Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After
by amomentintime3
Summary: Formerly Grand Romantic Gestures. This story starts with a road trip, ends with a wedding and dabbles in dark topics in between. Final story in TH-YCFYF trilogy. Click the prologue for a fuller summary. C/B/N/V/S/D, OC/B/L/R, Eric/OC
1. Prologue

**Story:** Grand Romantic Gestures

**Author:** A Moment in Time

**Sequel to:** Try Honesty (book one) and You Can't Forget Your First (book two). You will need to have read or read those two books to fully understand this one.

**Summary:** The end of senior year is approaching. The future beckons but where will our favourite six spend it and, more importantly, who will they spend it with? Who will stay on the straight and narrow and who will meander off the paths they were destined to? It is a time of turbulence and tragedy where some will find love and others questions. Friendships will be tested, families pulled to pieces, lovers found and lost but in the end everyone will discover one simple truth. Some people were meant to enter our life for a moment and draw from us a lesson, others were meant to take root forever.

**Includes: **a road trip, prom, a retake on the lost weekend, a short but significant film, a ring, a letter, some rekindled romances, a wedding and an overdose and bout of alcohol poisoning just to stir things up. Oh, and a blink and you'll miss it cameo from Jenny.

**Pairings:** N/V/C/B/D/S (anyone within that grouping might be paired up). E/OC, B/L/R/OC, As per YCFYF the only "pairing" to start this tale is B/D

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Prologue**

_December 17, 2008_

_If you're expecting some sort of brilliant beginning then let me remind you that I do my best work behind the lens, not crumpled on the roof of a town car parked between Nowhere, Indiana and Somewhere, Iowa (do those states even border?)._

_So don't look to these words as some sort of elegant beginning. This is just another entry in a seemingly endless string of mindless rambles. I've been preconditioned to self-reflection. Keeping a journal was a required part of therapy in the Ostroff Centre, and like the rest it was another middling requirement that I had planned to leave behind. However, by the time I was uncaged it, like the rest, seemed to have taken root in my psyche. It's why I gave Chuck that journal. Call it my last breath of naiveté or my first gasp of optimism. Oh who was I kidding? Chuck Bass writing about his deepest thoughts and fears? I should have bought him the bottle of scotch. Everyone mourns in their own way._

_I ought to catch some sleep while Chuck is passed out in the back, his reign of terror temporarily silenced (who knew that if you took away the alcohol and drugs you'd end with Blair the masculine version?) I don't really feel like sleeping anymore, my mind has become an unpurposeful hive of activity and I'm afraid that to let it rest means to let other things rise up in the darkened emptiness. Serena keeps looking over at me with those damned glistening eyes. She keeps telling me that I should be sad but I'll be damned if I cry just to suit her stupid ideas of necessity. I would wonder what will become of her, or Chuck or even me but I've never learned to eulogize the future. I'll leave that to her._

_Besides I've got something that neither of my siblings can covet; I've got true, reasonable anger. They lost their loves through their own mistaken pride and defect but I lost mine because he was a scheming bastion of avarice. So I'll dwell quite happily in justifiable rage._

_It's too bad Georgina Sparks taught me that hate can never fully undo love._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

_I'm running away with you_

_That's all I ever do_

_That's all we ever mean_

_I'll forgive you everything_

_Meet me at the railroad bar_

_About 7 o'clock_

_We'll talk while the sun goes down_

_Watching the lovers leaving town._

_This is for lovers, running away_

_This is for lovers, running away_

_Just for today._

_I'm running away with you_

_From yesterday's news_

_Let's leave it all behind_

_Help me back to my mind_

_I paid the penalty_

_You're the jailer rattling the key_

_But the key was mine_

_I keep a spare one every time._

_This is for lovers, running away_

_This is for lovers, running away_

_Just for today...._

"What the hell kind of sentimental tripe is that?" Chuck spat from the back. He kicked his socked feet on his sister's patent leather headrest.

"For Lovers..." Eric explained.

Serena pushed aside his feet to share a glance with Chuck, unspoken instructions followed by the eject button.

"What do you think you're doing?" Eric took one hand off the steering wheel and made a grab for his CD.

Serena avoided his grasp and taking the slim disk, hurled it out the window.

"What the hell!"

"First rule of surviving a breakup: Don't listen to depressing music that is bound to remind you of an ex." Serena said knowingly.

"First rule of driving etiquette." Eric countered, grabbing another CD from his bag. "The driver gets to set the music." Within moments a screeching split the car, this time not from Serena's perfectly outlined lips.

"Oh dear Lord," Chuck put his head against the town car's thick cushioning and prepared himself.

The siblings hadn't even manoeuvred through New Jersey before Serena had the map laid on her lap, confused expression on her pristine face.

"Who would ever pick Serena as the navigator?" Chuck chided aloud. "She couldn't find her way out of Berdorf's without assistance."

"She's sitting in the front," Eric reminded his brother.

"If you'd like to trade," Serena suggested.

"No way," Chuck said. "I do my best work in the back seat."

"I don't think that's considered work," Eric muttered.

Chuck took the cell from his pocket as Serena muddled through Map Reading 101. "You need to take the exit onto 1-80 West."

"And how would you know that?" Serena muttered angrily, finger trying to match up the red lines to blue.

"Mapquest," Chuck handed her the cell. "It says we can make it in one day and nineteen hours," Chuck arched one eyebrow in challenge.

"It's 3000 miles." Eric reminded his brother.

"So we'd better keep going."

"Can we stop and get a few magazines?" Serena begged.

"No!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Look, look, look," Serena pounded on Chuck's half asleep form.

"What the..."

"There," Serena pointed at the sign off the highway.

"You are entering Iowa," Chuck read it aloud. "Jesus Christ Serena. For that much slapping I'd expect to see at least a couple polar bears humping."

"I'm not taking a detour through Canada to satisfy your strange sexual cravings," Eric retorted from the front seat.

"Just keep driving," Chuck said, fiddling through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. He nearly had one lit before Serena stole it away.

"I thought we talked about that," Serena reminded him.

"That was ten hours ago," Chuck complained.

"Bet you're wishing we'd stopped at that motel."

"Did you pack some lingerie? That might tip the scales."

"Pig!" Serena rolled her eyes.

"Slut," Chuck countered.

"I thought we'd make it to day two before the name calling started."

"It is day two."

"Really?" Eric asked.

"Didn't you notice the ten hours of night driving?"

"I've been driving twenty-three hours without a break," Eric reminded with a glare at Chuck.

"What?" Chuck shook his shoulders. "We all have to make sacrifices for productivity."

"I'm going to dream of yellow lines until I'm dead."

"I'm going to dream of Serena's stomach gases."

"You're the one who insisted on a steady diet of fast food," Serena glowered at her older brother.

"Who would have thought something that beautiful could smell that bad."

Serena grabbed her clutch to do battle but then put it aside. "You still want that lingerie," She asked with a provocative smile.

Chuck took his time in consideration. "After some expertly applied duck tape."

"Arggg," Serena went back to her original plan and hit Chuck upside the head.

"Je suis dans la medre" Eric spoke in with a forlorn look at the clock.

"Why are you in trouble?" Serena said turning back to her brother.

"French final...9am," He pointed at the clock.

"Oh," Serena mumbled and waved at Chuck to offer some witticism.

"It's about time you let someone better you," Chuck tried. "You've been top of your class since preschool."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I've got to pee," Eric abruptly announced at the Nebraska border. It was hardly surprising as littered around his feet were at least seven 32oz coffee cups. It was Chuck's solution to staying on schedule.

"Then pull over and find a tree," Chuck suggested.

"I'm not going out there," Eric swore. "It's like 14 degrees."

"I once hung it out of a helicopter dangling 100 ft above the snowy Arctic."

"Chuck!" Serena screeched in disgust.

"What?" Chuck shrugged. "I was thirteen...oil investment...my dad."

"Do you really think that is going to convince Eric to..." Before she could even finish the sentence Eric had swerved the car to the side of the highway, landing the company in a snow drift. He was over the cement guiderail before Serena could wipe the surprise from her face.

"Don't underestimate the power of male posturing," Chuck educated his sister.

"I don't see why we couldn't have found a gas station," Serena whined as her brother, red faced and shaking hands, got back into the car.

"Are you still going on about that magazine?" Eric asked as he pushed the accelerator. Nothing moved. "We're stuck."

"Great," Serena rolled her eyes. "Couldn't you two have just taken it out and measured. You could have done it while I got..."

"Teen Vogue," Chuck and Eric moaned in unison.

"What? They're supposed to have a twenty-page spread on accessories."

Chuck and Eric shook their heads in unison. "You're going to need to push," Eric turned back to his brother.

"Why can't you do it?" Chuck whined.

"I'm driving!"

"Serena?"

"If you think I'm ruining my Chanel heels then you're nuts."

"Isn't there a homeless migrant somewhere," Chuck suggested.

"On the side of the Interstate?" Serena muttered in disbelief.

"They're never around when you need them," Chuck muttered and threw the door open, narrowly missing a large transport truck that swerved to one side.

"You might want to look first," Serena suggested.

Chuck threw her an irritated glare before stepping from the car and slamming the door behind him. He dug his John Lobb flats into the snow, waterlogged slush leaking into his cashmere socks. With an unrepentant curse Chuck put his hands to the car, shuddering at the film of dust that soiled his fingers. "You better appreciate this," Chuck yelled at his brother and pushed.

It took several moments but eventually the high priced tires were able to grab against the snow. Chuck gave one last push for good measure and was rewarded by a huge spray of snow and sludge that was picked up from below and flew through the air to cover him head to toe. Chuck trembled from the dampness. He stared down at his designer clothes and could have cried. The bright yellow and orange were polluted to a mute grey.

"You're supposed to step away as the car starts moving," Eric called out knowingly.

"Said by the boy whose licence is still a slip of paper," Chuck spat back, pushing the sludge-soaked hair from his face.

Eric and Serena didn't even try to stop their laugher.

"Pop the trunk," Chuck ordered.

"Why?" Eric asked.

Chuck just glared from behind the car. "I'd like to change."

"You're not stripping naked on the Interstate!" Eric yelled.

"You think I'd be the first time?"

"Ewww!" Serena gave another involuntary shake.

Another semitrailer truck sped by, adding further spray to Chuck's already drenched clothing.

"Just get in the damn car," Eric ordered. "We'll stop at the next exit. You can get changed and Serena can get her magazine. Chuck showed his agreement by stepping back into the car. They drove another twenty miles before they saw any sign of life.

"Where are we?" Serena asked with the map folded flat across her legs.

"Hick town number five hundred and two," Chuck complained from the back.

"Be quiet children or I'm turning the car around and we're going home."

"You used that threat 600 miles ago," Serena reminded.

"And it worked if I recall."

"Are you going to find a place to change?" Chuck complained from the back. "I'm starting to lose feeling in important extremities."

"Why do I get the feeling he's not talking about his hands or feet?"

"You know me so well sis," Chuck smirked from the back seat.

"You'd better pull over," Serena rolled her eyes. "If he lost that he'd have nothing left to live for."

"Or Eric could keep driving," Chuck suggested. "And you could find another way to warm it up."

Serena squealed in disgust and then pointed to a large blue building off the highway. "Look," she cried "Walmart."

"Hell no," Chuck refuted on instinct but Eric had already pulled to the exit.

"Come on Chuck," Serena smiled at her brother. "Their bathrooms are clearer than a gas station, and they have every magazine printed."

Chuck was about to refuse again when another thought struck. "Did you say _any _magazine?"

"Every." Serena shook her head knowingly.

"How come every hick town in every hick state has a Walmart?" Chuck asked, struggling to replace his shoes in the cramped state.

"Like you would know," Serena shot back.

"I wonder if they have donuts," Eric considered, jumping from the seat the moment he pushed the car to park.

"Can you pass me my bag?" Chuck asked before his brother could run off.

Eric opened the trunk with his key and made a show of pushing things from right to left.

"Hurry the fuck up," Chuck complained with hand out the window.

Eric slammed the trunk shut with nothing in hand. "I'm sorry Chuck. I must have forgotten to put your bag in."

"You've got to be kidding me," Chuck glared at his brother. "Then lend me something from yours."

"Did you forget? You didn't even give me enough time to pack one. I was planning on borrowing from you."

"Just great. I knew I should have let Dexter do it."

"Sorry Chuck," Eric shrugged. "But maybe you could get something here?"

"At Walmart?" Chuck just laughed at the absurdity of his brother's suggestion.

"Unless you'd prefer to stay in those clothes. We should hit a major city in five hours or so."

An ill timed shiver showed Chuck just how foolish that suggestion would be. "I should make you strip down and give me your clothes." Chuck slammed the door for good measure.

"Come on Chuck," Serena put a hand to her brother's shoulders. "It's an adventure."

Chuck glared at the big box store and growled. "It's turning into a tragedy."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck huddled in front of the sliding doors. He'd forgone buying a jacket because even he had standards. He hid his head under the thick black cotton hoodie, matching pants keeping his neither regions marginally warmer than before. He'd spent half an hour marching up the artificially lit isles before he'd settled on his ensemble. It was an elimination process as everything else in the store was made of polyester. There were still limits.

Of course this 100% cotton felt more like 100% horsehide. He wiggled right and left, yanking angrily at the scratching plastic tag. When he looked down he realized that his lit cigarette had burned a tiny circular hole into one sleeve. _Now I really belong here _he muttered and took an extra-long drag.

Chuck was well on the way to chainsmoker of the year when Serena appeared twenty minutes later. "What the hell took you so long?" Chuck mumbled at his sister. "Couldn't decide between bracelets and bangles?"

"Hardly," Serena gave him a little wink and he was intrigued. "I took a slight detour." She gave her bag a little jingle.

"I knew you'd come through for me," Chuck said with a smile. "Single or double malt?" He held his hand out expectantly.

"They don't sell alcohol at Walmart," Serena shook his head.

"Or Playboy," Chuck complained, "So much for selling _every _magazine printed."

"You might like this as much," Serena winked and slipped the discs from her bag.

"Oh thank the Lord!"

"You know what you have to do."

Chuck gave her a quick nod and then hurried back towards the car.

"Oh and Chuck," Serena called out. "You're looking very fashionable."

He didn't even slow at her mocking; he just offered her the universal salute en route.

Eric was already waiting in the town car when the siblings returned. With a wink at his sister, Chuck opened the back door. He sat directly behind his brother and then nodded at Serena. Within a second he had Eric's arms pinned from behind and Serena was emptying the CD changer. "What are you doing?" Eric asked revolting against his confinement. It was a useless exercise. Eric might have outgrown his brother in height but Chuck was still considerably stronger.

"For the last thirty seven hours we have been subjected to the Kooks, Arctic Monkeys, Babyshambles, the Libertines, Dirty Pretty Things, The Cribs, Franz Ferdinand, Kaiser Chiefs, Razorlights, Muse and the Rakes," Chuck started the speech.

"In constant cycle," Serena reminded her brother.

"If I have to hear Pete Doherty's cracked up screeching one more time," Chuck took a deep breath "Then I'm going to throw myself under the next tracker trailer to come along."

"Fine," Eric relaxed his hands to show that he wouldn't fight and Chuck let him go.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

They made it another three hundred miles before Serena tired of her entire haul of magazines (she never did have a long attention span). She put the lot on the dashboard and tried counting stars. That occupied her for another twenty minutes and then she started poking around the car itself. Chuck had a book folding across his knees and he was reading intently. "What are you reading?" Serena asked.

Chuck looked up from the book he'd been reading for the last four hours. "I have no clue," He threw the novel onto the floor. "It's bloody awful."

"So why are you reading it?"

"It's a New York Times bestseller."

"And this had ever mattered to you before."

"I figured I needed something to talk about with Lewis," Chuck revealed. "I mean after the obligatory _sorry my stupidity ruined your life and exiled you to a foreign country speech."_

"Hmmm," came Serena's reply.

"I thought Ms. Smith's undergrad with in Psyche and English was just a minor," Eric asked.

"It was."

"Then shouldn't you be reading Dr. Phil or something?" Eric asked, his smirk half-distinguishable through the rear-view mirror.

"I'll leave that to Serena."

"It was one time Chuck," Serena screeched. "Let it go!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric kept his eyes glued to the narrow streets. They'd detoured away from the major highway and Eric was intent on not getting lost. California was bad enough (he'd leave the beach fantasies to his blonder sister) but he didn't plan on taking up root in Wyoming.

Serena was chewing some god awful strawberry-flavoured gum beside him and he could feel his eyebrow involuntarily twitch at every loud smack.

He really needed sleep.

"I thought they didn't have playboy?" Serena leaned into the back to see what Chuck was reading now.

"They didn't," Chuck mumbled distractedly.

"What other magazine would you possibly read."

"You'd be surprised," Chuck mumbled further.

"Maxim?" Serena guessed only to have her brother shake his head. "FHM? Esquire? Stuff?" Serena gave a hiss of frustration. "The New York Times."

"That's a newspaper," Chuck arched a brow in condescension. "Just let it go."

"Now I can't." Serena tossed her head. "Just tell me."

Chuck tried a smirk but it formed as more of an irritated glower. He lifted the magazine, just enough to make the cover legible.

"You didn't," Serena gasped in shock.

"What," Eric turned his head but Chuck had long since recovered himself.

"Tell him," Serena insisted.

Eric didn't even wait for his brother to respond before snaking a hand to the backseat and ripping the magazine from his brother's hand. When he saw what it was, he couldn't help but stare back in surprise.

"Eric!" Serena screamed. "Eyes...road."

Eric made a quick swerve to recover himself. Then, taking the magazine he threw it at his brother's head. "Really Chuck?"

"I couldn't let my little brother triumph without a single look," Chuck justified himself.

The entire company fell into an uneasy silence.

"Do they look good?" Eric asked at last.

"Of course they do," Chuck decided, reopening the New York Arts Magazine. "How could the photos not be excellent? You took them."

"Can I see?" Serena asked and Chuck passed the periodical forward. "Wow, these are excellent." Serena decided after a careful examination. "It's too bad about the subject." Ah yes, the subject. There wasn't much joy to be had in publication if the subject of your photographs was a lying, greedy ex-boyfriend like Eric's. Not to mention that publishing intimate photos ought to be reconsidered when ones mother was still ignorant of their sexuality.

"Mom is going to kill me when she sees them," Eric decided.

"I don't think you should be worried about the pictures," Chuck enlightened his brother.

"What do you mean?" Eric asked.

"Read the article," Chuck instructed his sister.

**New York Art Scene Wowed by Youthful Import**

**Some people bank on their sexuality, others avoid it but even fewer are presented with an opportunity on the basis of it. It's no secret that the New York Arts scene has been striving to reinvent themselves for a younger audience. What better way to do that then to showcase a peer and to better that by showcasing an openly homosexual one?**

"**Sexuality is a theme throughout my work," The young artist admits "but it's not the single thing that defines me. It's a part of me but it isn't me."**

**We can't help but agree. Damien Allenby is so much more than any one thing. His work is so multifaceted that you could come back to the same piece over and again only to find a new truth on each viewing...**

"It goes on from there," Serena explained and quietly handed the periodical back to Chuck.

"Great," Eric said very softly and then pounded the steering wheel with an open hand. As if to punctuate the point, Eric's cell started ringing. His bag was in the floor of the backseat and Eric made no move to answer it. It rang four times before he nodded through the rear-view mirror for Chuck to take it out. "If it's my mother then please click it to voicemail."

Chuck pulled the cell phone but once the name flashed even Chuck froze.

"Who is it?" Eric asked, snaking his hand back to take the baby blue cell from his brother's immobile fingers.

"It's not your mother."

Eric looked down at the phone and then went as still as a statue. That was definitely unexpected.

"Eric!" Serena screamed again. "Eyes...road."

This time he didn't recover himself fast enough. At least they were travelling at a snail's pace. If he'd had another five yards then the mailbox would have come off the better for it. As it were, the crack was soft but deafening to the Van der Bass children.

"Oh Fuck!" Chuck expressed their sentiments.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck wrapped his hands around a steaming cup of coffee. It was a plain brew that they'd found in a plain town in Utah but after over forty hours on the road one lived for small pleasures. "Sweet caffeine," Chuck breathed in the aroma. "Nectar of the Gods."

"I thought you reserved that label for scotch." Serena climbed onto the hood of their car. Eric was grabbing a few moments of sleep in the back seat. Even Chuck couldn't refuse him after he'd cracked Bart's bumper through. Eric had thrown his constantly vibrating phone into the cavernous glove compartment. He never did answer it.

The three didn't mention the calls. They were becoming good at ignoring things. Like Serena's cell that chimed in regular intervals.

"Each has their purpose I assure you." Chuck mumbled between sips.

"It's cold," Serena shivered against the morning air.

"I'd lend you my blanket but someone forgot to pack my bag."

"Are you still bitter over that?"

"Probably left it in the underground parking."

"Why do you care?" Serena asked. "You never wear anything twice anyway."

"It had my scarf in it." Chuck mumbled with certain sadness.

"Oh," Serena understood it then. "Maybe you could call..."

"I already called Dexter," Chuck enlightened her. "They couldn't find it."

"I'm sorry Chuck," Serena sounded almost sincere.

"Here," Chuck took off his cotton hoodie and wrapt it around his sister's shoulders.

"Don't do that, you're going to freeze," Serena started to push the jacket back but Chuck put his hands on it, stopping her from moving.

"I'll be fine."

"Hey," Serena smiled at Chuck. "I'm the one who's supposed to be being nice to you."

"It doesn't matter."

"I'm the one with everything to make up."

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"How can you even say that? If it wasn't for me then you and Blair..."

"How can I not say it?" Chuck interrupted before Serena could put his wishes to sound. "I know you Serena. I don't have trumped up expectations of your worth. I never expected anything better."

Serena didn't know whether to be insulted or impressed by his words, so rather than speak she leaned her back against his now shivering form.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The morning sun reflected across the once pristine bumper of Bart's Lincoln Town Car (They were really going to come up with a better excuse than the mailbox moved), painting the lush interior in shades of red and orange. Chuck opened his still tired eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness. He struggled to sit, his back aching miserably from being confined for two days. When he stared up at the front Chuck saw that his brother and sister were sitting in relative silence, each studying the narrow streets and signs.

"Where are we?" Chuck asked.

"Look," Serena pointed at the large sign. Chuck needn't read it: the tall academic buildings tucked between quiet tree-lined streets spoke enough. They'd arrived at Stanford.

"I think I slept through Nevada," Chuck rubbed at his eyes.

"Me too," Eric retorted and Chuck wasn't entirely sure it was in jest.


	2. Chapter One Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter One**

_December 20, 2008_

_I know what you're all thinking. DAN HUMPHREY!!! Have I taken leave of all intellect, abandoned all good sense and fashion to bed down in Brooklyn. In short, no, no, and no thank you. _

_We're just friends and I'm loathed to admit that much but a girl needs someone when her closest friend flees the state in company with the source of her distress. If Cabbage Patch didn't take to kissing random girls in public then we wouldn't be in this mess._

_And if Serena would just answer her damned phone then I would explain as much._

_Blair Waldorf_

"So what now?" Serena stretched her long legs in the University parking lot. The tall evergreens were dusted with a thin layer of white and it gave the whole area a majestic allure, as if all three siblings had been transported into an ancient fairytale.

"I don't think we planned this far ahead," Eric put his head against the cool metal of the door and shut his eyes.

"Speak for yourself little brother," Chuck wrapt his sweat suit tighter to his body as he stepped into the clear evening air. "You and Serena are going to find me some information and I am going to get a drink."

"How considerate of you," Serena scrunched her nose.

"You must have known I would pimp you out little sis," Chuck said with a smirk, hand tracing Serena's face in an overly affectionate way. Serena slapped it away. "If you are quick enough then you can cover my tab."

"What information?" Eric opened his eyes again.

"Eric!" Serena scolded her brother for accepting.

"The sooner its done, the sooner we can find a place to sleep," Eric countered with a knowing look.

"Fine," Serena declared, crossing her arms in such a way that only emphasized her well-displayed chest.

"Lewis Smith's address," Chuck answered after an obligatory look down south.

"Like they'll give out faculty information," Serena rolled her eyes and promptly unfolded her arms.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Chuck waved away her concerns and started for the largest building he could find.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck meandered through a row of small bars that served the university set. He finally settled on a wood planked, old world style pub. Opening the heavy door, he pushed through the crowd of post-secondary students until he found a free barstool. He waved his hand after the burly bartender passed him by.

"Do you have any Auchentoshan or Springbank whiskey perhaps?" Chuck asked.

The tattooed tender laughed at the suggestion, letting his eyes drop to Chuck's wardrobe with a knowing look. Chuck felt a sudden urge to cover his cigarette burn. "We've got Coors or Budweiser on tap.

Chuck's stomach curled instinctively at the thought, but then he remembered just how long it had been since he had any alcohol. "Budweiser," He decided with a scowl.

"A fine choice," the bartender retorted sarcastically.

Chuck took the beer in hand and turned to survey the scene. Despite the early hour the taproom was nearly full of revellers. There was a delightful joyfulness in the room and Chuck guessed most were celebrating the end of the term. It was almost enough to make him reconsider college. After all, Bart would insist he go _somewhere_.

A gaggle of freshman girls passed by him and Chuck made some serious reconsideration. The thought was fleeting though, as were the flirtations when bravery brought a few girls forward. They were all beautiful but they weren't Blair. He was one his third pint when Eric and Serena found him, paper clutched in the younger brother's hand.

"I knew you'd come through for me," Chuck smiled up at his sister.

"It wasn't me," Serena admitted with lips pursed in amusement.

"It wasn't?" Chuck repeated in disbelief.

"I didn't have the right anatomy," Serena said with a look to her younger brother.

"You?" Chuck raised both brows to his younger brother.

"The student has quite outdone the master," Serena admitted with evident pride.

Chuck put a finger to silence the thought. "I wouldn't go that far," Chuck insisted, "But I may have to desist in calling you _little_ Eric."

"About time," Eric handed the paperwork over. "The rest of the family stopped that when I hit 6 ft."

"Did you happen to get directions?" Chuck asked.

"What do you think I am?" Eric shot back.

"Apparently still _little _Eric," Chuck decided with a conciliatory smirk.

"Where are you going?" Serena asked as Chuck pulled a few bills and tossed them on the counter.

"I like to make my unwelcome calls during the daylight hours," Chuck answered and started for the door. He made it only two steps before he realized that neither sibling had stood to follow. He spun around to see Serena trying to wave the bartender, Eric settled very comfortably beside her. "You two are going to stay there," Chuck muttered in disbelief.

"Why not?" Eric winked at his sister. "We were thinking of a beer. Have any suggestions?"

"Yes," Chuck rolled his eyes, "hurry up."

"You're the one who wants to see her." Serena reminded her older brother.

"Fine," Chuck nearly snarled and his siblings had to bite back their laughter. "I just thought you'd both be curious, that's all."

"Have a nice visit," Serena called gaily as his older brother started his slow ramble towards the door. She could see Chuck's shoulders tense under the cheap cotton.

He managed two more steps before he turned and strode purposely back. "How much is it going to take to have you both join me?"

Eric and Serena exchanged an amused glance before the older sibling spoke. "Nothing."

"Good! Now hurry up."

"Nothing monetary anyway," Eric took over for his sister.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just admit that you need us. That you're scared," Serena finished the thought.

"I'm not scared," Chuck bit back on instinct. "Chuck Bass doesn't get scared."

"Have a good time then," Eric smiled his once innocent smile upward.

Chuck clenched his jaw and worked one hand through the other. Of course he was bloody scared. He had little pin prick nerves dancing up and down his barely inebriated spine. "What if I did need you both," Chuck admitted despite the great disgust competing "Not because I am scared," He stated even though he knew it was obvious by now. "Just because I would _appreciate_ having my family with me." He could feel the bile rise with the last acknowledgement.

"With an offer like that," Serena spiked a brow "How could we refuse?"

"Stuff it," Chuck growled and set a beeline from the busy establishment, breathing easier only when he heard the patter of two sets of feet behind him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stared at the address in his hand at least fifty times, matching it to the small numbers that ordained the old fashioned mailbox. The faculty housing was a set of matching town homes, three stories of white-washed brick packed tightly together.

"Well?" Serena tapped a rhythm out with her Chanel flats.

"I'm just checking the address," Chuck said with more gruffness than was necessary. Lingering further would only expose him to further ridicule so Chuck climbed the small, metal gated stairs. He moved to adjust his bowtie, then remembered what he was wearing and settled for a cough instead. Eric coughed in matching form at the side and Chuck knew it was the first taunt. He hammered the knocker, bouncing on his heels until he'd realized it.

The door opened to reveal an attractive man in his early forties. He had a towel and was drying his hands as he stood. Serena tried to suppress a chuckle at his side, and Chuck covertly checked the address again. "Hello?" The man greeted them in a thick French accent.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," Chuck's breeding returned on instinct. "We were looking for the home of Lewis Smith."

"You're looking for Jane?" The man asked curiously. "She went for her run," The stranger tossed the towel over his shoulder and looked at his watch. "She should be back in ten minutes or so."

"Ah," the three kids muttered in unison.

"Did you want to come inside?"

Chuck nodded his ascent and stepped first into the space. The house was pretty empty, though the moving boxes in each corner implied that it wouldn't always be so. It was also very white and very bland but Chuck supposed all assigned housing must be. After two days of convenience living the scent of dinner was making Chuck's mouth water.

The still unidentified man disappeared immediately into the kitchen, leaving all three guests standing awkwardly in the main room. "Who do you think that is?" Serena asked naively.

"I'm betting it's not the Nanny," Eric retorted from the side.

The man reappeared before they could debate further.

"So how do you know Jane?" The man asked none of them in particular.

Serena and Eric eyed their awkwardly silent brother. When Chuck said nothing, Serena was moved to act. "She was our teacher."

"Ah," The man nodded in reply. "And you are?"

"Serena Van der Woodsen," she offered her hand and the man shook it.

"Henri St. Martin," The older man reciprocated.

"Eric Van der Woodsen," Eric offered next while Chuck stood awkwardly to the side.

"And you," Henri turned to the oldest last. "What is your name?"

Chuck hesitated at the question even though it was his nature to never be uncertain. "I'm Chuck Bass."

The older man put his hand abruptly down, a scowl replacing his inviting smile. He stared Chuck down, and there was something in the open disapproval that dissolved rather than increased Chuck's uneasiness. Chuck stood to his full height and met the older man head on.

It's likely that the showdown would have continued but fate is sometimes kind and a loud bang from the front drew everyone's attention.

"Aidan's really enjoying the gym's kids place," Lewis' familiar voice carried through the house and within moments a small toddler was scampering along the hardwood floor. Eric and Serena's eyes went to the small boy who had, admittedly, more than his share of good looks. Chuck's never left the entrance.

"He didn't want to..." Lewis' words dropped abruptly when she stepped into the room and saw exactly who was in it.

Lewis was as stunning as the first time Chuck had seen her, albeit considerably changed. Her hair was short now, cut into a bob with dramatically thick bangs that hung nearly to her eyes and drew out every inch of her cheekbones. Her eyes looked larger, darker than before but perhaps it was a trick of the makeup she wore now, much thicker than anything he'd seen on her before. She'd changed from her running clothes into an knee length pencil skirt that peaked out from beneath a voluminous cashmere throw. She looked different but it wasn't the hair or the outfit. Even if her stunned state she had a poise that she'd lacked the year prior. She looked older but not in a disappointing way. She was still as beautiful as ever.

Lewis was obviously stuck for words and so Chuck watched as she contented herself with drawing the throw from one shoulder and pulling it from her tanned arms. Once she'd preformed the task she turned back to her guests. "Eric," She nodded her head, "Serena ... Charles." The last came with a gruffer voice. "Welcome to my home," She exchanged a glance with Henri.

"They were just leaving," Henri interceded and started herding the teenagers towards the door.

For a moment it seemed that Lewis would let him, but then a kinder emotion won out. "It's alright," She corrected Henri's impulse. "Please sit down," She tried a genuine smile but it still frayed at the edges. Once they were all suitably, and uncomfortably seated Lewis broke the silence. "How's New York?" She started a string of meaningless but comforting questions.

"What brings you to Stanford?" Lewis asked at last and the siblings exchanged a glance.

"I'm considering going here," Serena answered in a squeak.

"You?" Lewis furrowed her brow in confusion.

Chuck elbowed his younger brother. Eric should have volunteered because what Ivy League would honestly consider Serena.

"Where are you staying?" Lewis asked.

"Well actually..." Serena floundered.

"We just got here," Eric intervened. "We haven't decided."

"Oh," Lewis went over to the side table by the front entrance. "If you want," She pulled out a small set of keys. "I had to stay in student housing until the house was ready. It's paid up until the end of the month."

Eric raised an eyebrow to suggest it to Chuck who resolutely shook his head. There was no way he was trading two days in a car for a week in shared accommodation. He was travelling straight to the most expensive 5 star hotel in Palo Alto. "Come on Chuck," Serena tried.

"It might be Serena's only experience of college life," Eric tried.

Chuck let the thought pester and decided that Eric was probably right.

"Jane," The Frenchman called from the kitchen and Lewis hastily put the key into Chuck's hand.

"I'm sorry but my son needs to eat on strict schedule." The implication was clear and the three teens rose to leave. They were halfway out the door when Lewis called them back. "Perhaps you could all come for dinner Tuesday? 6 O'clock?"

Chuck nodded the group's intent and they all fled out the door.

"Well that was..." Eric began before his brother interrupted.

"I need more alcohol."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The small globe lights swayed in time to the Indie band that was rocking the front of the student union building. The three siblings found themselves in the back of the small club, circular booth their domain and domestic beer their drink of choice. Serena and Eric had never had pretentions and Chuck abandoned his after he realized that all liquor tasted the same after seven drinks had come and gone.

"So what are we going to do now?" Serena yelled out over the ruckus. "I mean we saw Ms. Smith. Are we going to head home?"

"Speak for yourself," Eric yelled back. "I booked a campus tour for 10am tomorrow."

"Like you'd ever give up your Cambridge dreams," Serena contradicted.

"Sexy English accents don't hold the same allure anymore," Eric reminded his sister.

The three lapsed into silence until Chuck slammed his drink on the table. "New plan."

"Yes." The other two waited.

"One week to eat, drink and screw!" Chuck yelled out.

"That's not a vacation, that's your entire life!" Eric reminded him.

"Whatever," Chuck shook his head. "Are you two with me?"

"I am," Serena held her glass to his.

Eric was more hesitant. "How about I agree to the eating and drinking but I make the screwing optional? As well as avoiding seeing either of you screw," his lips curled into automatic disgust.

"That works too," Chuck agreed.

The three were halfway past drunk when Serena ordered a triple round of shots for the table. Her fingers wavered only slightly as she divided them up.

"No," Eric pushed them away. "One of us needs to remain sane. I'm the designated driver."

"Eric," Chuck shook his head. "You just did seven tequila shots with that confused freshman over there."

"It's a good thing it's just a short walk home." Eric decided.

"That makes you the designated walker," Serena laughed at her own joke.

"He is hot," Eric agreed with a sort of wistfulness.

"So go get," Chuck rolled his eyes and pushed the first shot back at his little brother.

"How can you be so casual about sex?" Eric pushed the shot away again.

"Let me explain the Chuck Bass theory of intimacy,' he put his arm around his brother. "Sex with the right person is meaningful; sex with the wrong person is great entertainment."

"Nice to see you've recompartmentalized," Serena said before she tipped her head back.

"Please," Chuck scrapped the glass on the table. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," He quoted the oft repeated line even though it was not only beneath him but he had yet to act on it. His sole liaison since Blair had been motivated by a far darker emotion than indifference or even grief.

"And he's totally staring this way," Serena pointed out.

Eric looked over just as he had six months earlier, but this time his sister's intelligence was wrong. "That's not the guy, that's his friend. And he's staring at you."

"No way."

Chuck looked over and smirked. "I've got to side with Eric."

"Maybe he's just scooping for his friend."

"Maybe your dress has that much cleavage," Chuck retorted with a deliberate look down.

"Whatever," Serena rolled her eyes but after a moment pulled her shirt up. "I'm going to prove you wrong," She announced and stood up from table.

"Where are you going?" Eric asked.

"To the bathroom," Serena turned with a mischievous smile. She bounced through the academic crowd until she reached the small group of boys. She slowed her pace as she rounded the corner and strained her ears to hear their conversation.

_Did you see the blonde?_

_What a hot piece._

_It's too bad about the faggot friend._

Serena couldn't quite breathe at the insult.

_Who cares? It's not like you'd be fucking him._

Serena made a speedy roundabout and returned to the small back table.

"So?" Chuck inquired knowingly.

"He was checking me out," Serena admitted.

"Told you," Eric said with a knowing glint.

"Why don't you invite him over here," Chuck suggested. "He could bring his friend."

"I don't think so," Serena said sharply. She put her hands firmly on the table and stared straight at the group of freshmen. Once the other two noticed her mood they inquired, and once they asked Serena spilt the story even though parts of it were unmentionable.

"Well," Eric stared into his beer.

"They're not getting away with that." Serena declared, rising from her seat.

"What are you going to do?" Chuck asked.

"Just a little trick I learned from Jenny Humphrey. Be back in ten."

Serena was true to her word. She weaved again through the crowd and starting talking to her bigoted target. A few suggestive whispers in his ear and the two disappeared into the bathrooms in the back. At exactly ten minutes Serena re-emerged, running as fast as her heels would allow her, stack of male clothing bundled in her arms.

"Run," She screamed as she passed her siblings table.

Eric and Chuck didn't have to be asked twice. They hurried out of the bar after her, laughter ringing through the evening still. They ran a half block away before Serena tossed the garments in a well-placed garbage bin and then ran another three blocks just to make sure they'd run into no angry, underwear clad hidebound.

They collapsed together into a fresh snowfall, gasping breaths turning the air white.

"That is so much more fun when one is not the subject," Chuck decided aloud only to have Serena grab a handful of snow and dump it on his face.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Their room was a large one, situated at the top of the student residence. It was painted in muted beige with a small half fridge to one size. Aside from the double bed and set of bunks there was little furniture and even less space for it.

"I get the double bed," Chuck yelled even though the rest of his siblings were struggling with Serena's bags. He'd be damned if he helped her transport her three cases of unnecessary couture.

"I say I get the bed," Eric contradicted. "Call it penance for driving forty-seven hours."

"Are you still trying to use that?" Chuck asked, stretching his arms and legs to show that he wouldn't be moved.

"Fetch," Eric threw a bag on the bottom bunk and once Chuck saw what it was he stood on instinct.

"That's my bag," Chuck said and walked over to it.

Eric dove onto the bed at his absence.

"You lied to me," Chuck asked in shock, digging through until he found his patterned scarf.

"Like I said," Serena dragged her bags into the small room. "The student has quite undone the master."

Eric tucked a pillow under his head and looked over in triumph.

"Never," Chuck countered but it didn't sound so convincing anymore. "Though you're officially big Eric now."

"I'll settle for the big bed."

"What about me?" Serena whined.

"I don't think so," Chuck agreed and after exchanging a look with his sister both dove onto of Eric.

Much wrestling ensued wherein Serena found a new use for her heels and Eric proved that wiry could sometimes outdo strength. When it was over all three were ready for bed and they elected on the drawing names option.

Eric would never reveal how he'd written his name three times. Really why would he? They should have guessed after the suitcase debacle.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

At ten o'clock the next morning all three were still dead to the world. Serena's ringing cell didn't even wake her younger brother but he did have the double bed to himself. It did, however, wake her elder and Chuck was far from impressed at having his first sleep in four nights disturbed.

Serena stumbled through the tiny room, digging through her bags on sleepy instinct. "Hello?" She mumbled into the phone.

"Hang up the damn phone," Chuck cursed at her from the above, "And come back to bed."

The phone went dead before Serena had to act. She pushed the phone under her pillow and promptly forgot the call entirely.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Don't get too excited by the daily update here. Unfortunately I'm back to work tomorrow and will likely be updating on closer to a weekly to biweekly basis. I'm going to try to post in chapter parts of about 2000-3000 words so that I can update more often._

_The second part of Chapter One takes us back to the UES._

_Doxeh – thank you :) I'm going to miss the Van der Bass in the show too. Oh why, oh why did they have to kill off Bart?_

_Provocative – I will admit that this does end as C/B (just because I think everyone could guess it with me)_

_Sky Samuelle – The road trip is definitely my way of putting them together as a family before the family drama ensues on their return. And Chuck will discuss that pilot incident with Serena at one point._

_akimat – thanks :)_

_MF85 – thanks :)_

_Puresimplicity – yeah, you're reading this one too *does happy dance*._

_Verybad4u – shall make the change, thanks for pointing it out_

_Midnight Sky – thanks *yeah another reviewer is following this one*_

_Up Next – Lily finally gets it, the fall out of that phone call, and Blair gets an unexpected visitor_


	3. Chapter One Part Two

Only God knew how long Blair sat at the side of her bed with the phone clutched in her hand. _It was nothing_ she reasoned. _It wasn't even him_ she tried to convince herself but the voice was too imprinted in her mind: the rough, usually bad-tempered, and always gravely intonations of morning that had whispered into her ear a hundred times.

_She was overreacting._ It definitely wasn't that! There was a reasonable explanation.

He couldn't do that to her. Except that before Chuck was _her_ Chuck he was Chuck Bass and that was exactly what he did. He abused the feelings of others, used them, and then threw them aside. He opened just a little and then shut the door twice as hard. But he wasn't that man anymore.

He wouldn't do that to her. Chuck loved her. He had admitted as much. Except his confession of love was a conciliatory goodbye. It was hard to believe in the validity of it, to test the sincerity when, even as his lips moved, his eyes were already reading their exit.

She could feel the hitch in her throat and she waged war against it.

Serena couldn't do that to her. There was no way. Chuck was her brother, and if the relationship had been bred in something other than a Lily Van der Woodsen marriage it might have mattered.

Serena wouldn't that to her. Serena was her sister, neither by blood or marriage but by something deeper. It was a well-crafted excuse and if the plot hadn't run through once before then she might have believed it.

But this wasn't like the other time. The last time she had felt pain, humiliation but also a sense of completion as if a part of her had always known the final scene to the story. She didn't know what she felt now, everything was a mess inside.

Her breathing hitched again and, try as she might, a sob escaped.

She willed herself to hold back. She was stronger than this. She tried to smile and she did, but the tears ran rivers through it. She wouldn't do this again. She wouldn't be defeated. She threw her phone onto the bed and kicked at the distant dresser. She pulled at the sheets on her bed until they littered the floor around her. It didn't help. She felt no relief until she fell upon them, her sadness overwhelming her yet again.

Once she'd again poured the expression of her grief, once her insides had twisted out she lay against her bed. She put her head back and plotted her revenge. She let the final tears empty into a darker bottom, a more familiar emptiness. She brushed roughly at her cheeks and nose, pulling her headband from where it had twisted in her curls.

Then she picked up her phone and dialled.

"Daniel," The voice sounded unnatural, conveyed a lightness she didn't feel. "What do you say to dinner tonight?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck ran the tip of his French fry in ketchup before tossing it whole into his mouth. Serena sat across from him dipping her spoon in time. The two had found the University's main cafeteria and were sitting in uncomfortable silence. Eric had cursed when he woke and then promptly run off to find another tour.

The other two siblings needed his intercession. They shouldn't have. Chuck and Serena had been friends since Eric was still in diapers, but that seemed so long ago now, and so much had happened in the intervening years.

"So what do you want to do today?" Serena asked.

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and they lapsed again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Serena asked when she couldn't suffer the silence anymore.

Chuck just stared at her in disbelief, and then chomped down on a whole fistful of fries.

Serena shook her head at the display, but wasn't ready to let the topic drop. "I can't believe Blair would date Dan."

"Do we have to talk about this?"

"Sometimes it's good to talk," Serena answered. "To get a grip on things."

"Fine," Chuck's fingers circled the condensation forming on his water glass. He wasn't going to say a damn thing.

"I don't understand why she would do that to me."

Chuck just stared up at his princess sister and rolled his eyes. Of course Serena would make it about her. Never mind the fact that Blair deserved a little happiness.

"She knows that I still love Dan."

Chuck pushed his plate away. His sister's self-centredness was swallowing up his appetite.

"You must be upset," Serena decided and put a hand out.

"I just want Blair to be happy," Chuck said it resolutely, as if he could convince even himself.

Serena was silenced by his words and Chuck hoped she would reconsider her own. Before she could say anything a slim hand stole a fry from Chuck's abandoned plate.

"Eric," Serena's relief was evident and shared by the rest of the table. "How was the tour?"

"They have the most incredible main library here. It's ten stories high. And that's just the main one," Eric was nearly giddy.

"Are you actually going gaga over a library?" Chuck scoffed in disbelief.

"What?" Eric narrowed his eyes. "It's amazing."

"It isn't the stack that interests me," Chuck decided, smirk returning in force.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily's fingers wavered back and forth through her extensive rolodex. There wasn't much purpose to it; the numbers she would use she had committed to memory and already called. Bart reclined on the room's principal sofa, outwardly presenting a far more poised posture.

"Did you call their father?" Bart asked.

"Of course I did,' Lily snapped and kept up her useless exercise.

Bart took a deep breath and grabbed the newspaper from the coffee table.

"You aren't honestly going to read that now," Lily stared daggers at her husband.

"Why not?"

"Because our children are missing," Lily scoffed in disbelief. "Have been missing for four days."

"And I'm sure you've worked very hard to track them down," Bart tried a conciliatory tone."

"One of us has to," Lily snapped a little louder.

"I just got off a transatlantic flight," Bart reminded his wife. "Do you mind if I sit down and read the newspaper."

"But of course," Lily dug "Tell me if you find them on page 6."

"They all have cell phones," Bart reminded her. "If they wanted to be in touch they would be."

"That might be your policy with Charles," Lily transferred to an overly serene smile. "But I actually care what my children are up to."

"Ah yes," Bart arched a brow. "Because Serena is such a paragon of virtue."

"At least I care enough to worry." Lily's voice rose a few octaves higher.

Bart took a deep breath and put his newspaper aside. "I don't want to argue. I'm not worried about them because they are together. After everything that has happened, maybe some time together is what they need." Bart relaxed his face. "Now," he grabbed a periodical off the table and tossed it into his wife's lap "read a magazine or something."

Lily was almost but not quite appeased. She crumpled the magazine in her fingers. "It's Christmas in three days," she reminded her husband. "They should be with their family for Christmas."

Bart understood her panic then. It wasn't about the children, all of which were more than capable of caring for themselves, it was the season. What would happen if there were no children to buffer between them, no drama to momentarily distract them from each other? They'd come together well over the last year of dramatic ups and downs. Heaven forbid they even co-parented well; his detached purposefulness countered her affectionate flightiness. But take that apart and what was left?

They could have talked about it but why would they? Each had got what they wanted from the union. Lily gained companionship and status beyond what she had previously enjoyed. Bart had got the intermediary he so desperately needed after Misty's death. It suited both their differing objectives to remain exactly as they were and not change a thing.

"Just read the magazine," Bart picked up his paper again.

Lily glared at her husband and decided to do just that, in the _other_ room.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I'm cold," Serena complained.

"Didn't you ever learn?" Eric chided her. "One coat for fashion and the other for function," he pulled on his own luxuriously warm and comfortable jacket.

"Here, this will warm you up," Chuck offered her a flask of scotch. They'd made a forced detour to the liquor store as Chuck swore he couldn't take anymore beer.

She rolled her eyes in disgust at first but then reconsidered and grabbed the bottle, taking a long drink. "Why are we ever out here? We could be in a nice warm restaurant."

"I want to see this library Eric keeps talking about."

"Want to see if there's room to deflower a freshman in the stacks?" Serena shot back.

"Perhaps," Chuck winked and took his glass back. They kept the show going though everyone knew Chuck had been more than celibate since they left.

"There," Eric pointed at the building. It was impressive as far as libraries could be; a mass of glass and metal that rose upward to touch the sky.

"Wow," Chuck smirked at his brother "It so wasn't worth it," He decided and took another sip. Serena gave him an elbow in the side but it didn't deter him. "Didn't you see anything good on the trip?" Chuck asked. "Sororities, steam baths, a nude beach maybe?"

"This is Stanford," Eric reminded him.

"Let's go back," Serena decided, her lips chattering in the wind.

They meandered along the mulch trails, Eric pointing out a few more sights to his uninterested companions, until they landed in front of a huge fountain. "Apparently all the students dive in this freshman year."

"Really?" Chuck decided, something finally catching his fancy.

"Yeah," Serena rolled her eyes. "In August."

Eric took off his coat and laid his camera on it.

"You're actually going to do it?" Serena laughed at his foolishness. "It's December 22nd," She reminded her brother.

"Oh, not just me," Eric decided and winked at his brother.

Chuck dropped his own coat and grabbed Serena around the waist. "Let me go!" She shrieked once the intent was clear. She kicked at Chuck with her feet, landing a few formidable blows before Eric could wrap his own arms around them. "Let go, come one guys. Please!"

Her response came in an ice cold dousing.

"God I hate you both," Serena swore at the first spray but once her brothers' maniacal laughter reached her ears she couldn't help but laugh herself.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily shut the study door firmly before sitting on the chaise. She took several deep breaths until her breathing returned to normal, and then realized the magazine was still clutched firmly between her fingers. She gave a grunt of frustration and was about to throw it on the desk when she noticed exactly what it was.

The New York Arts Magazine. Lily had meant to look the moment it came out but it'd been sitting idly for days instead. Now was a good time. She needed something positive.

Her manicured nails flipped easily through the smooth pages until she found the article. They tapped on the sheets until she found the pictures that held her son's credit. Then, very abruptly, all her other problems evaporated with a new one.

If she had needed it, the rest of the article could have confirmed her suspicions. She didn't need to; she could recognize it at first glance. She could have pulled the pictures of Rufus from the drawer but she didn't need to compare: they both had the same intimate fastidiousness and caring tenderness.

It was beautiful in a way.

Lily put a shaking hand to her mouth, her shock was genuine. When Bart opened the door she didn't even hear it. Her eyes were glued to the man that she now recognized as her son's lover.

"Lily," Bart folded his hands and stood in front of his wife.

"My son is gay," Lily told him. She had to tell someone.

There was something in the way that Bart responded that gave him away. He held his head steady and gave a curt nod but there was no surprise, and he hadn't thought to feign any.

"You knew," Lily realized in a small voice.

"Lily," Bart put a hand out but she slapped it away.

"I can't believe you _knew_!"

"The investigator informed me," Bart admitted. "But I hardly thought it was appropriate..."

"Appropriate," Lily screeched. "He's my son."

"I'm sure that once you've had the chance to think about it," Bart tried again. "You'll realize that hearing it from me wouldn't have been..."

"You're my husband Bart," Lily yelled further. "You should have told me."

"You just need to calm down."

"No," Lily countered. "What I need is to get out of here."

"Lily," Bart was fraying his last ounce of patience. "Be reasonable," he begged as she pushed out of the room. She had her coat on before he reached the other room. "Where are you going?" He asked more dominantly then he should have.

"I'm going out," She replied and slammed the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair smoothed her dress for the hundredth time. She had taken extra care in preparing, deciding on a black tailored dress that hugged every inch of her curves while still being demure enough to pass censure. She wore a peacock feathered headband with matching earrings. The look Dan had given her on arriving said enough. She might have been Serena's prince charming but he was still a boy.

The location was planned with as careful consideration. She'd chosen Butter because they were guaranteed to be seen there and she meant to put on a show. She could almost see Dan's lips tremble as he surveyed the menu. This place would bankrupt Rufus but Blair didn't plan for that. She inched her chair closer to her mark and leaned in to whisper, grasping his hand with one of hers. "Don't worry about the cost, this will take care of it," She explained as she pressed some bills into his hand.

"What," Dan turned to face her. "I couldn't," he moved to push the money back but she wouldn't accept it.

"Friends help friends out," Blair explained. "And you have been such a great friend to me." She touched his hair just briefly, enough to start a red blush up his neck.

"Yeah...," Dan started and Blair could watch his struggle. The effort it took to keep his eyes on hers, to not let them drop to her lips that were painted dark on purpose. "Friends..." he looked away then.

Blair couldn't fight the smile. Serena might exude sexiness from every pore, but Blair knew how to use hers.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The room swirled in an explosion of colour. The Van der Basses had ventured as far as town thereby upping the quality of establishment available to them. Chuck lay propped against the large bar seating, Serena and Eric sharing the opposite side. Electronic music rang out loudly; all siblings had already partaken and were now resting comfortably, drinks in hand.

Eric's cell phone had been making patterns across the table for some time, at one point prompting Chuck and Serena to bet which side of the table it would fall from first. The evening's entertainment was on Chuck.

After the fifteenth text, Eric opened his phone and read. He made it halfway through before an ungentlemanly snort rang out.

"What is it Eric?" Serena asked.

"Another text from him," Eric eyed his phone with disgust. "I'm so sorry. I never knew you. I didn't know what I was agreeing to." Eric mocked the words as he read, then clicked the delete button automatically. "What a load of crap."

Chuck tried to laugh at his brother's bitterness, but couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. He turned to Serena. "Have you heard from Dan?"

"No."

"Humphrey finally grew a pair huh?"

"Apparently. Have you heard from Blair?"

"She always had a pair." Chuck laughed into his drink, and then filled his mouth with the bitter-tasting liquid. Chuck couldn't blame either Dan or Blair. If Chuck had to pick one of the three, he'd pick Eric too.

Chuck put a hand up to order more drinks, pulling at his bowtie as it dropped back down.

"What do you think our parents are doing now?" Eric asked all of a sudden.

Serena and Chuck stared at him, because really, who would bring up ones parents? Before Eric could offer conjecture their phones chimed in sequence. It was a timely reminder, that no matter how far they ran, they couldn't escape New York. They lay their phones together and clicked the Gossip Girl post. Serena was the first to gasp, Chuck couldn't even manage that.

There it was, in perfect digital form. Blair and Dan for they could be nothing else now, wrapped together, playing the part of affectionate lovers, arms touching, smiles matching, heads bowed together.

She had laid the gauntlet down, rewritten the movie of her life and provided Chuck with a role to play. He could leave her to Dan or he could come back her hero.

Chuck remained very quiet. He pulled his hand back but let his phone rest on the wood table. His expression was blank, distress shown in nothing beyond a faintly trembling lip.

"Chuck," Serena put a hand to his arm but he wrenched it away.

It's too bad that no one ever taught Chuck how to be the hero.

So, instead, he grabbed his glass of scotch and marched straight to the bar, letting his shoulder brush the first attractive woman in his line of sight.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – wow that was a quick week or two but I had a snow day today *yippee* I think keeping it about 3000 words per post will help. _

_provocative – BD are definitely friends but just how close friends are they going to be :P_

_midnight sky – I love Eric too, I think when GRG is done I'm going to miss writing him as much if not more than Chuck_

_puresimplicity – allow me to explain the BD between the two stories. When Blair ran out on Chuck at the end of YCFYF she needed someone to pass the time with so she wouldn't go home and make herself sick (Eleanor is away right now, even in this story until next chapter) so she called up Dan because everyone else was with Chuck and she'd spend hours counselling him about Serena so she figured that he owed her. They ended up on the swings and Dan was just comforting her when he kissed her. So basically it was a misunderstanding, but now Blair is using it to her advantage. And what does Dan feel for Blair? I guess you'll have to find out later ;)_

_akimat – I'm sad they killed Bart period. Chuck will never get a happy resolution with his dad now (except in this story because in fan fic I don't have to kill him and for the record I ain't planning on it)_

_maha elalhi – The Van der Basses will be in Stanford for one more chapter and then someone is coming to bring them home :)_

_candycorn123 – another one from the TH days *does happy dance again*_

_Doxeh – see the note for puresimplicity concerning BD's "relationship" prior to this chapter_

_Sky Samuelle – I figure Blair has been sad enough, now she's ready to bring the bitch back :) _

_City Horizon – thanks again :)_

_Up Next – Chuck gets some important advice on life and death, Eleanor brings some baggage home from Paris and Dan proves that he's a good guy (though you all may disagree)_


	4. Chapter Two Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Two**

_December 23, 2008_

_When he sleeps, Chuck looks like he's made of glass. Blair had spoken of it, Nate had joked about it, even Lily has mentioned it but I had never cared to look. Now, in a room that sleeps three, I couldn't help but take notice. There was openness to his unconscious face, a washing over of vulnerability that rarely cracked through in the daylight hours. It was oddly disconcerting and yet strangely reassuring._

_When Serena squeezes my arm I recognize that, not only can see it too, but that she had never before thought to look._

_She and I had perfected the art of playing family, of feigning bonds that could be broken without a backward thought. We'd mastered the moving of households, the splitting of time and pretend affection. We'd played the role of daughter and son, regardless of the stage upon which we were cast._

_But we, neither of us, had truly bound ourselves to anyone except the other. We had never been brother or sister except within our tiny circle of two. Even in the last year, when we traded the words either in banter or with genuine fondness it had never been truth._

_And yet now, when our eyes met over the one who never belonged, we truly knew what it meant to blend a family._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Lily sipped on hot apple cider, a small concession to Christmas which was nearly upon her. The coffee shop was brimming full of seasonal revellers, sharing coffee and laughter that echoed off every corner. Even with the crowds of people around her, she felt so alone and Lily Bass could manage a lot but she was always undone by loneliness. She needed companionship, she thrived under the spotlight. She feared quiet nights and lonely corners where she could be nothing more than herself.

Lily took her phone out. She'd crossed over Eric's name more than once that evening. She wanted to tell him that she knew, but she didn't know the words. She was afraid of saying the wrong thing and breaking the bridges they'd rebuilt. Her fingers scrolled further, a thousand contacts who would commiserate with a knowing glint and a jaded smile. She knew them. She was one of them. Her fingers dragged lower, until they lingered in the R's, in first loves and their eternal bonds. She snapped her cell shut before a moment of vulnerability broke apart what she'd spent the last year building.

She collected her coat and threw some change on the table.

She had made her bed and now it was time to lie in it.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric tapped his phone against the bed frame and considered a plot of action. Serena was across from him, heels rubbing aimlessly on the wood floors. They'd spent most the day lingering around campus. Chuck hadn't shown up last night or anytime since.

"Do you think we should go to Ms. Smith's without him?" Serena suggested. "He might be there."

Eric shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "Try calling him again."

Serena flipped her phone open and hit redial. It rang through, bringing a loud chiming from the other side of the door. Both siblings looked just in time to see their brother walk in. He was wearing the same clothing as yesterday, pinstriped grey pants and orange shirt with bowtie. They looked lived in but he looked surprisingly retrained.

"Chuck," Serena cried out and shut her phone.

Chuck stared back.

"Where were you?" Serena screeched.

"Sorry mother," Chuck smirked languidly at his sister. "Did I miss curfew?"

"We thought you might have flown back without us," Eric said.

"Why?" Chuck threw his wallet onto the bed. "There's nothing there for me."

Eric and Serena exchanged unspoken words behind their brother's back. "Are you alright?" Eric tried first.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Chuck responded.

"You fled the club without so much as a backward glance or word," Serena began.

"And you've been avoiding us for nearly a day."

"Perhaps I had better things to do," Chuck lashed in a low tone.

"We know you're upset," Eric tried.

"You've already exceeded your quote of interventions for the year," Chuck spat at the pair and grabbing his bag, starting pulling it toward the small bathroom, only to have Serena press a heel in his path.

"Chuck," Serena tried again.

"Don't bother," Chuck spun at his sisters, eyes darkening as he spoke. "If you're expecting me to run back to New York and duel Dan then get the fuck over it. You're going to have to do the dirty work yourself."

"Chuck!" Serena's voice rose and Eric put a hand on his sister to calm her.

"Though if you ask me," Chuck spun back around. "Humphrey ain't worth it."

"Is Blair?" Eric asked.

"I didn't say that she wasn't," Chuck turned on his brother.

"You said there was nothing worth going back for."

"I said there was nothing for me," Chuck corrected, growing increasingly agitated as he was questioned in double.

"Chuck," Serena softened her tone deliberately and put a hand to her older brother. He wrenched it away with a curse.

"I need to get changed for dinner," Chuck said moving to step over his sisters Valentino heel.

"So that's it," Serena shook her head. "I really thought you loved Blair."

_You thought wrong!_ The lie was on his lips but he couldn't make it form. "It's better this way."

"I didn't take you for a coward," Serena stood her full height, taking advantage of her heels to look down on Chuck.

"I am _not_ a coward."

Eric watched the exchange with increasing apprehension. His other siblings stood inches apart, Chuck's face growing increasingly threatening under Serena's constant glare. He moved to intervene but before he could it happened.

"Why else would you give up?" Serena taunted, and Eric couldn't help but wonder who she was talking about, Chuck or herself.

"Because I ruin everything I touch," Chuck admitted and Serena flinched at the honesty. It couldn't be some flippant remark. Eric saw the realization of something he had only glimpsed in passing. Chuck's eyes filled with tears, and he choked the rest through a sob. "I destroy everyone I love." Serena put a hand out as the first tear fell, a conciliatory gesture but he threw it away as roughly as the first. "I have a dinner to prepare for," Chuck stepped past his stunned family.

Serena and Eric met as he left; an exchange of glances that conveyed more than words might have. They'd cemented their family not with rings or on the road, but with something far more meaningful.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stared out into the clear night sky. One could rarely see the stars in New York; they were always hidden under the layers of smog and flashing light. He took a deep breath and felt the cool air expand his lungs, breathing out in a cascade of steam. The evening was going better than the awkward beginnings two days ago would have predicted. The conversation had flowed as easily as the wine through the small home. It reminded him of that last evening before the scandal, when he'd seen the teacher in Ms. Smith and appreciated her more for it.

He didn't know whether to feel pleased at his reacceptance or even more horrible for his past actions.

"So this is where you're hiding," Lewis crossed the balcony to stand in the opposite corner. She dangled a glass casually in one hand, her thick throw the only comfort against the windy night.

"It's beautiful here," Chuck decided aloud. "So different from New York."

"It has its charms," Lewis agreed, "but so does New York."

"Like?"

"Twenty-four hour sushi restaurants," Lewis' lips curled so much that it was hard to measure her seriousness. "Does that mean you going to leave New York?"

"Why?"

"For school next fall," Lewis prompted.

Chuck just shrugged his shoulders. Honestly, he'd never given it much thought.

"What are your plans?"

"My father wants me to go to West Point."

Lewis nearly dropped her wine glass over the edge. "Military College," she mocked the mere idea.

"Says it will teach me discipline."

"What do you think?"

Chuck shrugged again. "Probably, why not?"

"Why would you?" Lewis countered.

"I could learn to shine my own shoes," Chuck said flippantly.

"You could do so much more. You could end up here if you really wanted it," Lewis waved her hand across the Stanford campus.

"With my record?" Chuck scoffed.

"Put your mind to use," Lewis advised. "You could open a lot of doors for yourself."

"Said by the idealistic teacher?" Chuck mocked.

"You're intelligent," Lewis countered his cynicism. "Probably more than me," she admitted and he was surprised by her candidness.

"You're six months from becoming a doctor," Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Of educational psychology," Lewis reminded him. "Charles," She turned in total seriousness. "Intelligence is only half the key to success in life. Find the other half and your future is set."

"Haven't you heard?" Chuck drawled. "I'm already set for life."

Lewis took a sip of her wine and then spoke her truth. "And that is too bad."

Chuck could have asked her what she meant, but he guessed he wouldn't like the answer. So they sat in silence a time, her eyes trained to the stars, his studying her. She tapped her engagement ring absently on the cast iron and he decided to turn the subject to a more neutral topic. "What are your plans for the next year?"

"Stanford is quite enamoured with my research," She admitted. "I'm likely to make tenure."

Chuck shook his head even though it wasn't the answer he'd expected. He'd been hinting at the four carat diamond that dangled so ostentatiously off her ring finger. "And the French playboy?" Chuck teased.

"Who?" Lewis snapped back from her thoughts, "Henri?"

"Do you have a selection?"

"No, of course not. We'll be getting married," She acknowledged.

"I can feel your excitement from here."

"It's not that," Lewis promised and took another sip.

"Then what is it??"

"Henri is amazing. He's hard working, intelligent, handsome and most importantly, he is very kind."

"Still sounds like settling to me," Chuck smirked into his glass.

"Oh what do you know?" Lewis said with an exhalation. "You're just a kid."

"As you're so fond of reminding me."

"Listen _Chuck_," Lewis stared her once student in the eye. "I've spent most of my life in academia and I'm ready to get married. I'm ready to have more children, lots of children."

"Aren't you a little young to be panicking?" Chuck teased her.

Lewis couldn't help but smile at the answer. She raised one eyebrow over her glass and inquired. "How old do you think I am?"

He stared straight at her face. He's once sworn to Eric that she couldn't be more than twenty-five and he didn't see a reason to change his opinion now. She was obviously older than him, but she had a misleading youthful flush to her cheeks. It was only on closer examination that he caught the smile lines around her eyes. "Twenty-seven?" he added accordingly.

Lewis laughed so hard that she nearly dropped her glass off the edge of the balcony. "Thank you Charles. You have made my night."

"How old _are_ you?"

"In the thirty-three years I've been on this earth," She started "I have yet to feel the rush of butterflies or the bubbling laughter that breaks on sight of ones _beloved_. I don't think tomorrow is going to be the day," She finished knowingly.

He could have laughed at her cynicism but he had enough to match it. "You shouldn't give up," he decided aloud.

"I'm not," Lewis assured him. "I do adore Henri. This," She waved a hand around her and her space. "It's not about him at all. It's just the season."

"Not one for gifts and mistletoe?"

"I hate Christmas," she said it honestly.

"How could anyone hate such joyful times?" Chuck asked. He didn't plan for the irony but it played regardless.

Lewis stared at him a long time before she spoke. "Let me show you." She pushed aside her throw and inched the band of her wool pants downward. It'd be a lie to say he wasn't first distracted by the curve of her narrow hip, or the tan smoothness to her skin but he quickly caught sight of what she meant to show. Curving over one hipbone was an artlessly crafted tattoo: carved into her skin, crooked and in dark green ink was a date.

**12-25-78**

"Can I?" Chuck asked before his fingers brushed against her skin. Lewis nodded and he touched her hesitantly, letting his fingertips trace the tiny grooves around each number for only a moment before pulling back. "How did you…" Chuck began with

"The point of a compass and some ink," Lewis explained. "I was fourteen years old. I started at the group home when I was thirteen: A very young and very pretty thirteen."

"And that date is?" Chuck asked even though he had an idea of the answer.

"It's the day my parents died." Lewis ran her own finger along the homemade tattoo and then inched the band back up. "I had wanted to memorialize the day my life was ruined."

"It…"

"It was all teenage angst and melodrama. I was convinced that the _entire_ world hated me and most the time I thought I knew why," She admitted.

"But you seem grounded."

"I grew up. Eventually _everyone _does. The big secret is _you get to chose when_."

Chuck didn't know how to respond to that so he just let his own hand dangle over the grate, his scotch swirling aimlessly in its glass.

"Go home Charles," Lewis squeezed his arm. "Everyone should be with the people who love them at Christmas."

He couldn't do it just because she or anyone else wanted him to. So he shook his head no. He could see the disappointment in her face but it wouldn't make him change his mind.

"If you won't," Lewis said as she walked to the patio doors. "Then come to brunch, spend it here with us."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair sat at her mirror, her greatest critic and warmest friend. She turned her face from side to side, studying the curve of her chin under the unforgiving morning light and reflecting on her progress in the last two days. She couldn't help but smile at both.

It wasn't all success but Blair was only embarrassed on one count. _It was not her sanest moment_, Blair decided _to think that Chuck and Serena could ever touch one another_. She'd definitely taken leave of proper judgement and because of it she had even more to explain to Serena.

She should have regretted the entire episode but she didn't. She'd printed the ticket for Chuck to return; a curse ready on his naturally curving lips and she'd be damned if that curse went unanswered. She pushed her curls back from her face and fixed them behind a crystal headband. She was emerging from the exhaustion of the last few months, her morose depression swallowed up in anger. She loved Chuck Bass but she hated him in equal measure. She had given right to the end and he had run away.

Now she was going to make him atone for it.

Her phone chimed and she picked it up, rolling her eyes at the familiar number. She was done with Dan Humphrey. She'd cast him for a particular part and it was hours past his final bow. She adjusted her headband again, reweaving the studded purple through her curls until it sat exactly straight. She smoothed her print dress again, smiling at the illusion of perfection that stared back.

Her mother had called to say she'd be back from Paris tonight and that she was bringing a very special surprise. Blair had no doubt it would be her father. She hadn't seen him since the summer and she meant to make the most of every possible moment.

One way or another, Blair was going to get everything she wanted for Christmas.

"Miss Blair," Dorota stepped briefly into the room. "Mr. Bass to see you."

Starting right now.

Blair smiled triumphantly into the mirror, then quickly rearranged her features to better suit the moment. She brushed another invisible speck from her dress and made for the door, floating down the stairwell with practiced poise, hand gliding regally on the thick wood.

She half expected Chuck to be waiting as he always did, feet at the bottom of the stairs or else halfway up. When she reached the landingand caught no sight of his dark features the momentary displeasure worked well to dissipate her joy at manoeuvring so successfully.

Then Mr. Bass, Mr. _Bart_ Bass stepped from the side room and Blair understood why there had been no vigil. "Mr. Bass," Blair eyed the man warningly, assuming as one is bound, that the visit was to convey bad news.

"Blair," The older man nodded with his customary neutrality. "I am sorry to disturb you so close to Christmas."

"Have you heard from Chuck?"

"No," Bart admitted evenly.

Blair nodded her head, tearing her eyes away only momentarily.

"I don't know if Charles is planning to return before tomorrow," Bart admitted. "But I do know that he would want you to have this." Bart held a small velvet box in his hands and for a moment Blair's heart jumped. But it wasn't that small. She wrapped her slender fingers around it and pulled it back, letting it rest in her palm.

She opened the thin lid and gasped. Cradled delicately in the satin inlay was a set of crystal and diamond earrings. They were a perfect match to the Erickson Beamon necklace she'd refused to part with. She stared at the tiny droplets of platinum and realized that this was exactly what _her _Chuck would do. He would spent a large fortune to commission earrings to match. He'd trade grand romantic gestures with significant mistakes. He would give and take, push and pull.

A part of her almost loved the game, but that part was growing weaker. She was growing up. She put a finger to the cold metal, and looked up at her ex's father. He was smiling down at her, a certain smugness to his posture.

She understood. Bart always had his own motivations. "If Chuck wants me to have this," Blair snapped the lid and pressed the box back into his father's hands. "Then he can give it to me."

"Are you sure?" Bart asked with his usual placidity.

"I am," Blair said.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Thanks for all the great support. Reviews really help me stay motivated when real life has so many demands (hence why you've got a post in two days)_

_Dystopic Entropy – thank you :) Someone is arriving to put an end to the road trip_

_Doxeh – Lily and Bart have their own storyline throughout this one (it's interwoven) and unfortunately Rufus will become involved (I'm definitely not shipping them on the show, we'll see if that comes through in the story…then again my current opinion of Show*Lily is she should be the one to jump off the roof) Oh, btw, your question from lat chapter...that was not the Jenny cameo. She actually makes a flesh and blood appearance in this story (still doesn't speak though, I figured a way around that). Jenny is the only character on GG that I really can't bring myself to like._

_:D – thanks :) _

_maha elahi – I agree, Chuck brought all of this on himself and he'd going to have to be the one to fix it._

_provocative – I'm sorry to say there will be some DB interaction but it's kind of entertaining and yet sweet (I'm hoping). For the record, I don't they could ever pair for the long run._

_Sky Samuelle – I confess, I like my Bart and Eric more too. I'm kind of glad that I started writing Bart post 1.16 where he was still redeemable. They sure made him nasty after that._

_beachbumyeahh – thanks. I love the vdB dynamic and it's definitely going to come back stronger_

_puresimplicity –Chuck is going to fight for what he wants but probably not in the way that you think. This whole story (his storyline) is how he learns to stop running not just in the literal sense but also with respect to his other poor coping mechanisms._

_Up Next: Eleanor's surprise, Blair's comfort and two important characters are about to reconcile _


	5. Chapter Two Part Two

Blair circled the principal living room, eyeing the sharply decorate table with a tremor of excitement. Her mother was arriving any moment, complete with her special guest and the anticipation was making Blair bubble over. She couldn't keep herself still; moving in constant motion from one side of her room to the other, heels wearing a thin grove in the thick carpeting. She touched the forks, wine glasses, even the crystal milk pitcher, turning each slightly until they were exactly straight. It was hours past dinner, but Eleanor had requested Dorota prepare the room to take tea and treats. There was a three tiered server, nearly toppling with the excessive assortment of tarts and squares, around which were no less than three tea pots, each filled to the brim. It was an ostentatious display for only three people but Blair wanted everything to be perfect for her father's return.

It was four hours to Christmas day and, at least in this small way, she was starting to feel the magic. Christmas had always been her father's holiday; he had been the one to stuff her stockings, to trim the tree, even to hang the lights outside (until that unfortunate incident when Blair was twelve). She would stay up for hours, wrapping boxes in shiny paper, tying bows and affixing flowers. She had a hundred memories; moments shared together and she couldn't wait to add another.

When she heard the door open, Blair nearly ran from the room, rushing to the head of the stairs, eyes scanning the hall below to find her father. Her mother emerged from the lift first, wrapped in a thick wool coat. Blair held her breath as her mother lifted an arm.

"Blair," Her mother beckoned with her left hand, casting a look into the elevator as she did. "Come here, I have someone very special for you to meet."

Blair had made it five steps before the word _meet_ broke through her consciousness. She made it another three before she noticed the colossal diamond on her mother's left hand. Two steps later she nearly collapsed when rather than her graceful father; a balding, portly midget of a man exited the lift.

"Blair," Eleanor smiled happily at the Lilliputian and then turned back to her daughter. "Allow me to present my fiancé Cyrus Rose."

_You have got to be kidding me!_

Blair could feel her whole body waver and for a moment she thought she was going to fall into a black abyss. The moment passed but her fingers never let go of the banister, nails pressed white with the effort of containing her response.

"Blair," Her mother said for the third time, this time with a sharper edge. "Greet the man."

She truly meant to but she couldn't. Every nerve in her body was dedicated to the singular task of remaining upright.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck walked side by side with his brother Eric; snow lofting softly in his dark hair and crunching beneath his thick boots. Serena was ahead of the pair, arms linked through a tall blonde.

"When you said Serena met someone I was assuming poetry-reading, dark haired clone of Lonely Boy," Chuck muttered at the pair of blonde heads. Apparently when Chuck had run out, Eric and Serena had spent the rest of the evening drinking and flirting. Serena might love Dan Humphrey but that couldn't mean much with recent events. In fact, it was more reason to walk, hair blowing softly into the face of a University senior. He was a handsome man with thick blonde hair, clear blue eyes and a certain familiar cluelessness.

"Rather than Nate the older version," Eric supplied.

The prancing blondes laughed in matching time while the other two could match only eye rolls.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair sat in the centre of her enormous bed, pillow scattered chaotically around her slim ankles. She grabbed one and squeezed out all her emotions, crushed out every feeling before they could dress her face. The entire room was spinning and Blair was trying to forget just how many tarts she had consumed to distract herself from the evening's mindless chatter.

She ought not to have expected better. Her mother was like a hurricane that rushed through her life, a strangely organized and methodical hurricane but a hurricane all the same. The woman would flash through and then, with a curt nod or sharp word, expect Blair to forget the damage she wrought. In fact, her mother was a lot like Bart Bass, but Blair's response was nothing like Chuck's. Blair tried harder, sought the ideal that was just beneath her grasp. Her mother was heartless so Blair tried to have heart enough for both.

She pulled harder on her pillow, threaded the tassels between her fingers until it hurt. She needed the distraction. She needed to not focus on the evening. Eleanor had the policy of never bringing men home until things were serious, which in practice meant never having brought anyone until now. In theory, Blair had preferred the rule but in practice… There ought to have been a preliminary step between casual and engaged, particularly when one was expected to adjust to an aged reject from the Isle of Neverland.

The man was a caricature: a living, breathing, dressed in an argyle pullover, caricature. He spoke with absurd catch phrases like "not enough," laughed to long and too loudly, and looked, well he looked like what he was, an absurd joke without class or refinement.

And this was her father's replacement?

The best that she could say was that he was kind. Then again, she imagined all ugly people must be.

Blair dragged her nails along the silk pillow until they caught in the expensive fabric.

She had no Christmas mirth left. The man she loved had fled and, despite her scheming, showed no intent to return. Her father was cavorting happily on his villa with his gay lover. And her mother, she had shown the depth of her callousness.

"Blair?" She barely heard male intonation. When she turned to the door, she mentally added another negative to the list.

"Daniel," Blair could feel the tears welling in her eyes. It was fitting. If there was anything that could ruin the evening further, it would be to lose control in front of Brooklyn trash.

Dan hopped awkwardly from foot to foot, small present in his pale hands. He didn't know what to make of the scene in front of him, the strong Blair Waldorf reduced to tears.

"What are you doing here?" Blair used her usual biting tone but it was weakened with her tears.

"I bought you a Christmas present," Dan held the parcel in front of him, an offering of sorts.

"Do I look like I need something from you?" Blair spat.

"Right now," Dan replied. "Yes."

Blair rolled her eyes but couldn't bring herself to order him out. So she stared at the distant wall, hoping he'd grasp the idea himself. Of course he didn't.

"Why don't you open it," Dan suggested crossing the large room. He took a seat on the bed, far enough to not risk touching and then handed her the present. "It might cheer you up."

Blair snorted at the thought. Like Dan Humphrey could give her something worth having. She stared him in the eyes, but once she saw the sincerity of his concern she weakened and grabbed the package. She slipped a finger beneath the thick wrapping paper, slowly and carefully freeing the tape and orderly unfolding the paper. Hidden beneath the wrapping was a slender novella, an older edition with Breakfast at Tiffany's and Truman Capote scrawled in cursive on the cover. Blair smiled genuinely at the sentiment.

It was thoughtful and, despite her better judgement, she was touched.

"I thought with your admiration of Audrey Hepburn and ..."

"Thank you Daniel," Blair cut off the ramble. She didn't have the heart to tell Dan that she already had a first edition.

They sat like that for a moment and then, emboldened by her polite response to his gift, Dan spoke. "Would you tell me what is wrong?"

Blair rolled her eyes. "It's nothing _you _would understand."

"Try me."

She stared at him for a long time before she spoke, more rational side urging her to throw him out, insisting that he wouldn't understand the problems in their world. But dammit, she needed _someone._ "I just met my mother's fiancée."

"I didn't know she was getting married."

"Neither did I," Blair arched a brow, glistening eyes growing to tears again. Daniel took a deep breath, and she could see him scramble for a word of advice or comfort. "Don't bother," She advised.

"Blair..." Dan started regardless of her urging.

"It's my world," Blair stared him down. "Mother's introduce fiancées on Christmas Eve and then invite them back for Christmas dinner."

"That's not okay."

Blair just laughed; an ironic smile showing through her tears. "That doesn't _really_ matter."

"What do you want?"

Blair really thought about that. She wanted a lot of things; her life seemed to be an endless cycle of want and disappointment. She doubted that was what Dan was asking though. "I don't want to be here tomorrow."

"Then don't."

Blair laughed again. As if it could ever be that simple. "I don't have a choice. Eleanor Waldorf expects me to be here, and what mother wants..."

"What if I were to come?"

Blair stared at him in disbelief. Who was he kidding?

"At least you'd have a friend, and my family does the whole brunch thing." Dan shrugged his shoulders. "Quite often we don't even have a dinner."

Blair wanted to laugh again because this was Cabbage Patch, the Brooklyn reject, and he was offering her what, truth be told, she wanted.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dan decided when she remained silent.

"Okay," Blair couldn't believe the words even as she heard them.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric and Chuck crept up to the still slumbering Serena, pillows clutched in their hands. Their sister was sprawled out on the double bed (Eric had finally reconciled to sharing), blond hair scattered from one side to the other, breathing slow and shallow. Serena had crept into the room sometime after the other two had fallen asleep and judging from the state of her hair and the makeup that still creased her usually flawless complexion, she'd enjoyed her night out.

Eric began a whispered countdown and on three the two boys took their pillows and hit Serena as hard as they could. She bolted immediately up, but neither brother stopped their assault. They pummelled her in alternating strikes until she took refuge under her pillow and screamed for mercy.

They added a few more smacks for good measure.

"Stop already," Serena screeched and their relented. She took a brief look and when she saw both their pillows lying on the bedspread, pulled her own back.

"Brunch starts in an hour," Eric explained the reason for the rough opening.

"Alright," Serena rubbed tiredly at her eyes and swung two weary legs over the edge.

"You must have had fun last night," Chuck observed, smirk never leaving her face.

Serena met her brother's eyes and then rolled hers. Chuck didn't expect her to say anything but she did. "Actually, I did."

"That good huh?" Chuck's smirk grew larger.

"Not that it's any of your business," Serena tried a disdainful look, but a smirk of her own soon competed. "But it was _very _good."

"I'm happy for you," Chuck leered. "Though you could always have better."

"No," Serena stated automatically. "Though I suppose I could have worse."

"You must not be referring to me," Chuck drawled arrogantly.

"Let's just say Dan is a good _kisser_," Serena clearly implied that was all he was good at it.

Chuck mixed a gasp with a laugh and ended in a snort. Eric couldn't manage anything beyond a stunned silence.

Serena stared at both of them, blush already starting in her cheeks at her revelation. Before either sibling could recover themselves, she'd grabbed a change of clothes and fled to the bathroom.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stood first at Lewis' door, his other two siblings gathered around. A thick green wreath had been added to the plain white, and somehow, seeing it there reminded Chuck that Christmas had come. It was Christmas day and yet none of the three siblings had shown an inclination to return home. There was either a truth or a question to that fact but none of them had voiced it.

Henri met the trio at the door, taking their coats to a soundtrack of laughter. Lewis' riotous laughter carried from the other room, mingling with another laugh, deeper in its male intonations. To the younger siblings it was an strange chortle but to Chuck there was something familiar in the rich tune. That's why he kept deliberately back, letting Eric and Serena walk to the room first. Chuck's ears were tuned to the memorable sound, predicting and then discounting its source.

Except once he reached the small sitting room he saw that he was right. Bart Bass sat on the central chair, smile cracking his face in two and showing his usually hidden dimples. Chuck nearly walked into his siblings, Serena and Eric having been shocked to silence on seeing their stepfather laugh. Chuck was the only one to have the memory but it was many years old.

And not likely to be revisited. Once Bart saw his children, the amusement died abruptly and the smile was replaced by a scowl. Chuck wanted to disappear into the hall again; just on the oft chance that he would hear that laughter again.

"Bart," Eric started first, eyes quickly meeting his other siblings.

"Eric, Serena…Charles," He saved the sternest stare for his biological offspring.

"Please come in," Lewis intervened. "Have a seat."

The children did as told, more glances exchanged than words until Bart abruptly stood. "Would it be possible to speak with my son?" He looked to his host. "Privately?"

Lewis waved at her son's bedroom and Bart started there. He didn't ask Chuck to join him; that was understood. As Chuck moved to follow his father, he could feel a hand touch his arm. He didn't acknowledge the comforting gesture or turn to the girl who had given it.

The two men moved to the side room. It was small but how much space did a toddler really need? It was sparsely decorated, very little on the walls but many toys on the floor. Bart pushed a few aside as he walked and Chuck stayed in the cleared section.

Bart spun by the older window, his face unreadable. The indecipherability frightened his son though Chuck wouldn't let it show. When he spoke harsh words the younger Bass was sadly comforted. "I expected this of you," Bart admitted, "but how could you involve Serena and Eric in your little flight." It was fitting. Bart was most concerned about the other two. "Do you know how upset Lily has been?" Chuck flinched at that because he had grown to adore his stepmother. "Or how angry Headmistress Queller is? To have three of her students skip out on their final exams. One of those Eric Van der Woodsen…the pride of her sophomore class."

Chuck wanted to mutter something about his siblings having their own free will but he didn't. He just stood there, the guilty party in his father's eyes.

"You've come so far this year," Bart reminded him. "Why would you throw all that away?"

Chuck just stayed silent.

"I've spoken to Eric and Serena's teachers. They've agreed to let them write the finals the day classes resume."

There was no way Chuck could manage to prepare that quickly, without Blair and without attending the last month of school. Chuck Bass shouldn't have cared. He'd written many an examination high or otherwise intoxicated. Chuck was almost surprised that it mattered now but it did. Maybe his father was right. He had come far and he wasn't ready to throw that away. "Speak to my teachers, arrange another week for me to prepare."

"No Chuck, I will not."

Chuck looked up in surprise. "Why?"

"Because I always have but it's never changed anything." Bart took some folded papers from his inside pocket. Chuck studied each every movement as his father unfolded the stapled pages. "I've come to a realization. I can't be the father you want and you can't be the son that I'd prefer and so I admit defeat."

"You've giving up on me?"

"No." Bart took the papers he'd been holding and offered them to his son. "There comes a time in very father's life where they have to decide what they truly want for their son. I want you to be happy," Bart insisted, "and successful," he couldn't help but add.

Chuck looked down at the paperwork and instantly recognized his uncle's letterhead. It was the final contract for the Vancouver purchase, a 12.4 million dollar gamble that, judging by the expression on his father's face, was approved of.

"If someone else can help you achieve those things," Bart turned his head down only momentarily. "Then holding on would serve nothing but my own pride."

Chuck was struck speechless.

"If you want to live with your Aunt Kaitlyn then I will not make you stay."

There was a time he longed to hear those words, when he would have run away without so much of a backward glance. This was not that time and those were not the words. The unabridged honesty in his father's statement was almost terrifying, but perhaps he was only scared because it was a sign of something new.

"But I want you to know that I _am_ proud of you. I can now see the man you're going to be."

Chuck didn't know what to say. His father stayed silent after his words, waiting for some kind of response. Chuck couldn't make one, not until his father started for the door. "I'd rather you see it firsthand." Bart turned at that and you could easily read the disbelief on his usually expressionless face. "I want to stay in New York." Bart nodded his head silently. Then his son said something even more shocking. "I don't want to give up."

They stood like that for a time, father standing halfway to the door, son with papers still clutched in his hand. "So are we okay?" Bart asked with an obvious amazement threaded through the simple question.

Chuck stared at his father a moment. There had been so much bad blood between them; so many crisscrossing wrongs that maybe, perhaps, they'd finally crossed one another out. Perhaps this was their moment for a fresh start.

"We'll get there," Chuck promised, small smile playing on his lips.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – There is one more part to this chapter but I kind of like breaking it there, enough drama for one post :) I'm having trouble with my internet at home so I'm not sure when i can upload the next part but if it takes a while then at least I'll have a lot to post :)_

_puresimplicity – I wanted to make them a 'real' family before the real drama starts :)_

_PrincessCheese- thanks for reviewing (particularly as you're a usual non-reviewer) I'm glad you're enjoying them all _

_:D – it's more fun to use everybody (except Jenny *lol*)_

_ashtondene – Don't worry about 4 being your first, I'm just glad you're reading this story as well_

_Hannah – thank you :)_

_Midnight Sky – I like Lewis too. She's staying in Stanford but I'm sure she'll head to New York for a visit or two (her son's grandparents are there after all)_

_Sky Samuelle – Kathy is making another appearance in this one though when she shows up you might not like her as much. She's got storylines with both Chuck and Serena. :)_

_Chairforever – Blair plots a lot in this story, not always about C though_

_bluestriker666 – yeah, another new reader (reviewer). I also love(d) Bart-Lily until they made Bart such a cruel father. I have shipping Lily-Rufus at times but right now I hate them both (I think they killed it when they had her sleep with R before the wedding. I hate cheaters…Maybe I'll just pretend that didn't happen in this story. It's not in trilogy canon either way)_

_Up Next – The rest of Christmas Day…prepare to be dramatized._


	6. Chapter Two Part Three

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Two - Part Three**

Bart led his small family on a hike through the snow and slush. His son stayed closest to his side, sliding just once on the thick black ice. They'd convinced their father to stay for the Christmas brunch and, to Chuck's silent delight; the entire family was audience to the return of smiling Bart Bass. Serena's jaw was slacked for so long; Chuck thought he saw her drool into the cranberry sauce.

The cause was simple. Chuck's former teacher had mocked his father all through the meal. Chuck had never seen anyone tease Bart so mercilessly, but then again, who would tease Bart Bass when he could half crook a finger and bankrupt a hundred families.

Perhaps Lewis would have been more circumspect if she was fishing for a research grant.

"You never mentioned that Ms. Smith looked like _that_," Bart raised a teasing eyebrow at his son and the younger Bass slipped again.

He recovered quickly. "Do you think I would try to pick her up if she looked like Mme. Bourbonnais? Both Bass men chuckled in consideration of the hairy and ancient French teacher but Eric and Serena could only stare in bewilderment at the friendly comradely they had never seen before.

Eric was about to make a snide comment when his phone interrupted. Once he took it from his pocket, the earlier disbelief quadrupled. The message was so shocking that the youngest Van der Bass couldn't keep his feet in motion. He stood perfectly still, cell hanging frozen in his fingertips. Bart and Chuck, being several feet ahead didn't notice the cessation. Serena did. "What's wrong?" She asked, staying by his side.

Eric handed the cell wordlessly to his sister, so she could gasp in matching form.

**Eric,**

**You were right. I've cancelled my show. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me.**

**Damien**

"Wow," Serena managed to speak first. "I'm..."

Eric's head did a little involuntary shake and then he grabbed the phone back, pocketing it in his wool pants.

"Eric," Bart called back to the dawdling pair. "I'll have my keys back."

Eric's eyes rounded further at that, and he fingered the keys in his pocket. _He was so dead!_ A panicked look at his siblings later, he cleared his throat.

"The mailbox moved," All three children chimed in unison.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair sat beneath an enormous Christmas tree, bits of wrapping paper and smartly tied bows littered around her patterned feet. She unwrapped another pair of platinum earrings and smiled graciously, chiming for the hundredth time that morning that it was exquisite. It was all exquisite: the perfumes, the jewellery, the electronics, and a thousand and one meaninglessly expensive gifts. Her father had sent the most, nearly five boxes full. She could have seen it as evidence of his adoration; she preferred to see it as evidence of his guilt.

Apparently Eleanor and Cyrus had visited the vineyard. Apparently Harold was quite enamoured with her proposed stepfather. Apparently everyone else had everything planned out.

No one cared enough about her to ask. No one even cared enough to visit.

Dorota handed her another elaborately wrapped parcel and Blair feigned all the enthusiasm she didn't feel. When she looked to her mother, Blair realized that playing at being happy was enough for the older Waldorf.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric trailed the rest of his family into the large sitting room. He removed his shoes with unneeded care, hung his coat until it was perfectly straight and then moved to the larger room.

"Serena," Lily launched from her seat as the small family emerged from the foyer. "Eric," the second greeting was discomfited but it didn't unnerve Eric. Bart had mentioned on the jet that his mother knew. In fact, he used those exact words and then let the conversation drop.

He'd have been shocked but Bart Bass was nearly always unaffected.

Whereas his mother was always highly affected.

Lily waved a servant over and offered each of her children a cup of tea. From how noticeably their mother's hands were shaking, it was evident someone needed it. Chuck prepared to take a seat beside his brother, to act as moral supporter but Bart waved him through to the study before the older boy could. Eric watched the Basses disappear together, but felt the warmth of his sister's hand as she took the seat instead.

"I saw your pictures," Lily started the conversation he'd been dreading. "They were excellent."

Eric took the hot cup into his hands, wrapping his fingers through the handle and waiting for the rest. For a moment everyone stayed silent and Eric thought that the topic might drop. He should be so lucky.

"And the boy," Lily smiled. "This Damien Allenby. His artwork is quite magnificent."

Eric just nodded his head cautiously.

"I was thinking. If you wanted to invite him around, I'd like to meet him..._again._"

Serena gave his leg a squeeze and the invitation was left hanging. Eric didn't know what to reveal and what to conceal. "Perhaps I'll call him now," Eric stood up as his mother nodded in encouragement. He took out his phone and then slipped it back. He hadn't taken a single of the man's calls or responded to a single text.

"Invite him," Lily offered again. "The boy must be very lonely so far from his family at this time of year."

"Maybe I will," Eric started with the precursor _maybe_ because it was just that. "I'll talk with him," He decided not only for his mother but also for himself. He grabbed the thick coat from where he'd tossed it and buttoned it back up. When he looked back he could see that his mother was surprised by his leaving but she made no attempt to stop him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair wrapped a finger around her string of pearls. It was a beautiful set, the chains of differing length hanging in the hollow of her collarbone. It was the Christmas set. She smoothed her red dress and readjusted the matching headband. She looked like Christmas.

She just didn't feel like it.

Her phone beeped and she took it languidly from her pocket. It was Christmas night and she'd long given up her fantasies. She knew who the text would be from and the thought made her lip curl in instinctual disgust but it also made her relax.

She'd been crazy to invite Dan Humphrey to Christmas dinner, and she'd reconsidered at least five hundred times since awaking but she'd never called him back, never told him to stay away.

So she smoothed her dress and moved to the stairs to meet her reinforcement.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stood at the door to his father's study as the older man moved to the smaller safe. The Bass study had two safes, one for paperwork and documents and the other for valuables. One Chuck had the combination to and the other he did not.

Bart opened the wall safe and pulled a small box from it. "While you were gone Tiffany's delivered this to the penthouse."

Chuck didn't need to see the cursive lettering, he knew what it was.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with it. So I put it in here," Bart offered the box and, for a moment, Chuck let it hang in midair. It was the earrings he'd commissioned for Blair before everything went to hell. Before he'd made promises to himself that involved not giving such tokens. "If you want my advice..." Bart began.

"I'd rather not," Chuck insisted, but took the box anyway. He already knew Bart's opinion. The man adored Blair with such passion that, if there hadn't been thirty years between the two, Chuck might have feared it. "I'm going out for a bit," Chuck decided. He didn't look back; he didn't want to see his father's smug joy.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dinner went much as Blair as expected it to. Her mother fawned over Cyrus to the exclusion of the rest of the table, Dan sat in awkward silence, and Blair forced too many forkfuls as a way of avoiding the questions directed her way. Cyrus expressed all the right interests on all the right cues. She could have almost believed his interest sincere except he was just a bit too interested. He was a bit too happy, too friendly, and too caring. Blair stuffed a huge spoonful of Yorkshire pudding in her mouth, nearly gagging on the thick gravy.

"So Cyrus and I will be flying on Wednesday."

Blair's head shot up at that little proclamation. Her mother had been gone for nearly a month and she was ready to fly away again?

"New Years in Buenos Aires."

Blair stuffed another disgusting bite in.

"I thought Blair was going to accompany us," Cyrus suggested with a warm look her way. "To give us a chance to get acquainted."

Her eyebrow involuntarily twitched.

"I hardly think Blair wants to spend New Years with her aged mother. Charles, her boyfriend, was bragging about their fantastic plans."

Blair scrapped a fork at the statement, breathing deeply to tide the welling tears. Perhaps she should have told her mother. She didn't know why she hadn't. Perhaps she was afraid of the _I told you so _but more likely she wasn't ready to put the truth to words.

And that's when it happened. She felt a touch of warmth on her thigh and then Daniel Humphrey took her hand within her own. He wrapped his larger palm with hers and traced tiny circles on her cold fingers. She ought to have pushed it away, ought to have been repulsed but strangely she wasn't. She was comforted so she let their fingers rest together, at least for a time.

"Sorry," Cyrus was confused. "You are..." he tilted his head to Dan.

"Dan Humphrey"' Dan repeated again.

"Daniel is a _former_ boyfriend of Blair's best friend." Eleanor stared the Brooklyn boy down. "Blair's boyfriend, Charles, is son of the most prominent industrialist in the city, Bart Bass."

"I see," Cyrus said, though there was still bewilderment evident in his face.

Blair just stared at her mother in disbelief, though she did unwind her fingers from Dan on the second mention of Chuck. There was so much hypocrisy in her mother that Blair wondered how Eleanor could remember what stand she was presently occupying. She'd advised Blair against Chuck, the erratically passionate, new money hanger on. But, Blair could feel the bile rise in her throat, new money was better than no money. The tears were poised to start again but she stopped them. She could feel the four course meal she'd just partaken in, how every calorie soaked bite was settling in her slowly rounding stomach. It was too much. "Excuse me," Blair tossed the napkin from her lap and stood abruptly. She marched from the room without as much as a backward glance.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric stared at the plain white door and breathed deeply. What was he doing there? He pulled the phone from his pocket and debated returning a text instead of knocking. A text would be good. There was a degree of detachment, the ability to rehearse ones response, to read between the lines.

On both sides.

Eric hammered on the door. He could hear someone moving inside and slowly counted to ten as the footsteps grew closer. The door was flung open, and Eric hardly recognized it. There was no smell of paint, no blare of music. His ex was covered in paint spatters, he wasn't joking, and he wasn't smiling. His eyes were dark until they fixed on Eric, his posture slumped until he caught sight of his former lover. Then, starting at the corner of one lip, the smallest smile spread across his face. It was hesitant and Eric understood why. "Eric," the Brit intoned slowly and Eric gave him the moment. He let Damien move through the shock in seeing him while Eric moved through his own shock at coming there.

"Can I come in?" Eric asked.

"Yes, please do." Damien stepped back.

Eric stepped into the half disassembled rooms. There were boxes from right to left, canvas and cloth stuffed roughly into the cardboard edges. The lone couch was covered with a thick layer of newspaper and Damien knocked it all to floor to allow Eric to sit.

"Would you like something to drink?" Damien asked and then winced. "I don't have anything to drink...or to eat."

"I'm good," Eric promised.

"Are you sure? I could order something." Damien was rambling and based on how gaunt the boy was looking; Eric wondered how long the fridge had been empty.

"I'm still stuffed from brunch," Eric confessed and watched

"Oh," Damien muttered noncommittally and then they lapsed into silence again. The Brit leaned on one of the moving boxes, denting a corner with the weight of his body.

Damien focussed in on Eric but the young boy was making circles of the room with his eyes. "You're moving," Eric observed.

"Yes. I'm supposed to fly back home next Thursday."

"Home!" Eric gasped. Why was he gasping? He should be happy.

"I've been trying to change my deferred admission to January instead of the Fall," Damien explained. "Not that there's much purpose in it." Eric watched as the older boy's face fell; the melancholy sadness that had greeted the door slowly retaking his face, returning a shadow to his eyes and a dip to his lips. "I think I can kiss a career in the arts goodbye."

Eric stared at one of the canvases hanging from the largest box. It embodied everything the artistic community aspire to be, all lightness and dark, question and answer.

"Maybe I could go to law school," Damien rambled with a look at Eric. "Oh, who am I kidding?" He put his eyes back down and rubbed forcefully at his eyes. "I'm too stupid to be a lawyer."

"Damien," Eric didn't know how to comfort the boy who hours before had been nothing good to him.

The Brit was fully shaking, Adam's apple climbing and falling with the force of keeping his tears at bay. He looked fully ruined and when he said the next, Eric understood why. "I just want to draw," He whispered. "But who would show me now?"

Eric didn't know what to say because Damien's words were the truth. Who would show a man who bailed in that way; who backed out of a highly anticipated show with less than forty-eight hours to opening?

"I have ruined my life," Damien admitted, no longer able to contain the tears that spilled down his cheeks.

Eric wanted to say that he hadn't but he'd never fully mastered the art of lying. So instead he sat beside the older boy and, without a word, just wrapped his arms around him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck played with the small box in his hands, tried to focus his attention and distract himself from his own nervousness. The elevator was slowly rising and he still didn't know why he was here. He had promised himself that he would leave Blair alone until he had sorted himself out.

And yet here he was standing in the familiar mirrored lift. He didn't know what he was going to say, he didn't know what he wanted to say. He didn't know why he was here. All he knew was that his feet always seemed to gravitate this way. They never wanted to be apart from her.

He just didn't know how to be with her.

The doors opened and Chuck could feel that panic rising in his throat. He didn't have a rehearsed speech and he was getting tired of living without a plan.

But then he saw her rushing through the hall and he could breathe. She was magnificent in red; the short dress was pulled tight to her narrow waist and pillowed out dramatically to show her strong legs. She always looked amazing in red.

She was halfway to the stairs before she noticed him, and when she did all the colour drained from her face. "What are you doing here Chuck?" She spoke authoritatively.

"I needed to see you," Chuck admitted. "I brought something for you," He held the box out like an offering, a peace treaty. Maybe that's what this could be. They didn't need to rush into anything, they could be patient, and they could be friends again.

Except what he wanted most was to touch her.

His eyes were so intent that he almost didn't noticed the motion to her left, but he certainly recognized the voice. "Blair, are you alright?" Dan asked as he walked from the dining hall.

Chuck stared from his former girlfriend to the usurper: the openness of his earlier expression fading quickly to a darker background. His eyes narrowed, the fullness of his lips thinning to a matching line. He looked her from toe to curls before speaking. "Merry Christmas," the sarcasm was biting, and Blair could feel the tear. Chuck tossed the box on the entrance table and then, with one final glare, left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair stood in front of 1812 and debated. She scratched the key card against her fingers and weighed her options. She had planned and schemed to have Chuck return but in her sketches he had returned to beg forgiveness, or to scream and curse. She hadn't planned on tonight.

So maybe she had her own apologizing to do. With a deep breath, Blair scanned the card and waited for the tiny green light. It was well after midnight by the time she could dispose of Daniel and escape her mother and Cyrus. It was longer before she could find the courage to end here.

The room was dark as she entered, only flickering fluorescent keeping the room aglow. Blair moved through the silent space. The room smelled of old tobacco and scotch, and Blair wasn't sure she was comforted by it. The main room was empty and Blair pushed the door open to the bedroom.

And that's when she wished she had a little less courage or a little more intelligence.

Chuck wasn't alone. He was sleeping soundly with another woman at his side.

Blair could feel all the air rush from her lungs, but no matter how much she wished to escape, her legs would not move. She couldn't tear her eyes from the picture.

They made a beautiful pair, slender legs wrapped through muscular ones, rich ginger hair spilled out against dark. There was something in the hue of her hair, the slightness of her legs that brought back every reason why Blair didn't want Chuck.

It had been forgotten after his flight. She'd been obsessed with the desire to get him back, to make him face her. She'd let the fixation overrule her disgust. She'd forgotten that Chuck Bass had slept with Georgina Sparks. And while this girl was definitely not the psycho, the similarity was enough.

Staring at the emaciated visitor to Chuck's harem it was hard to forget.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric's eyes burned at the morning sun and he felt around for a pillow, only to touch warm flesh instead. Eric felt a little flutter in his throat and very slowly he moved his head to the side. Damien was sleeping soundly, arms flailed out over the small bed. Eric tugged at his shirt, relieved it was still on. The early morning light grazed through the small flat and Eric felt the sudden urge to flee before it lit all the dark corners.

He could feel Damien shift beside him, and Eric stared down at the boy. He had dark lines cut into his pale skin and Eric's heart softened. The Brit looked like death warmed over and, based on how distressed he had been the night before, Eric could understand why.

Damien opened those sleep bedraggled eyes and Eric smiled. "Good morning," the accent welcomed him.

"Good morning," Eric countered, despite the pins of dread doing a dance across his spine. They sat in silence for a time because, although they had lots to discuss, neither wanted to break the delicate moment. "What are you doing today?" Eric cracked first.

"I'm moving out," Damien reminded the boy.

"Where to?"

Damien shrugged his shoulders. "I can't stay here," He answered instead. Eric knew why. The apartment was funded by the Ewan Sparks Foundation.

"I have a place," Eric suggested.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck poured some more cream into his coffee cup and downed a Tylenol with each sip. It didn't help. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus. He wasn't sure it was just the drinking. The chatter of his family encircled him but he focused on the coffee, cup to the lips, down to the table, again to the lips, after a time he didn't bother returning it down but let it hang until he'd cleared his mouth.

Across from him Bart and Lily read the newspaper in matching form. He shook his head and focussed on his coffee again. At least until Lily gasped so loud that he nearly dropped the ceramic mug. Everyone looked at her, but she looked back at him. She folded the paper over and handed it to her stepson.

When Chuck read it the gasp was only marginally softer.

It was the engagement announcement for Eleanor Waldorf and Cyrus Rose. "Did you know?" Chuck asked, showing the paper to Serena. When she gasped as well Chuck knew that she had not.

They had left her to face it all alone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric flashed his key card and opened the door to 1812. Damien scurried in behind. The two had spent quite a few nights here, but the bags in Damien's hands reminded both that this was not one of those occasions.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Damien eyed the mammoth suite with a disbelieving tilt.

"My brother will understand," Eric assured him. "Just make yourself at home."

"I'll figure something out," Damien promised and Eric hoped he meant it.

He was hoping on a lot: Hoping that Damien was being honest in everything he said, hoping that Damien had no further contact with Georgina, and hoping that this wasn't another twisted plan.

Because he was handing the Brit keys to Chuck's kingdom.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stood in the mirrored elevator for the second time in as many days. He needed to talk to her, and this time no Dan Humphrey would stop him from doing so. He wanted to be her friend; he wanted her to know that he would be there. He'd bought a bouquet of lilies, roses and daisies. It had become their arrangement and he meant to offer it in peace. No matter what happened after this, she would at least know that he cared.

Blair stalked into the foyer, (the servant had refused to move him to another room), her eyes were flashing and Chuck felt a little bulb of distress grow from his stomach outward. "I didn't know about your mother," He spoke before she could throw him out.

"Why would you?" Blair spat back and he knew she hadn't forgiven him. Not even close.

"I am so sorry Blair," Chuck stared right into her eyes and she might have believed him. In fact, he probably was sorry but was she supposed to forgive him for it? "I just..."

"You ran," Blair pointed out. "You're good at it." Chuck didn't say attempt a rebuttal and for some reason it angered Blair more. "It's all your good at," She pushed harder to be granted only a flinch. "Running, and drinking, and whoring," She impelled her anger further. And he didn't say a damn thing. Chuck just stood there, back straight and face strangely still except for a flinch at every thrust. For some reason it made her madder, pushed her words further. He was violating their unspoken rules; he was supposed to meet each thrust with an equally malicious parry. He wasn't supposed to take it; he was supposed to fight. They were supposed to clash and struggle, ridding themselves of the scars even as they did battle. He wasn't supposed to just stand there! "So you might be sorry," Blair spat with pure venom. "You might even love me," She threw the words back "but tell me, from you, what's that really worth?"

"You're right," Chuck agreed in a small voice. "But I am sorry," He decided and lay the familiar bouquet on the entrance table. He gave her one last look, a lingering look and then walked defeated into the lift.

Blair was so angry her hands shook. She watched him, even as the door closed, she watched him. Then with a peel of rage she grabbed the flowers and struck them repeatedly against the table edge until the hall was littered in red, yellow and white.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck laid his head against the cool of the elevator box and shut his eyes. He shut them because it was all too much, not just Blair's words but the truth behind them. He shut his eyes because he didn't want to see that truth reflected in the mirrored glass, or to remember every memory the small car held.

He flipped his cell open and scrolled through his call history until he found the number he needed. The call was connected before the elevator reached its destination, and when he stepped into the cold night he had both his plan and method of proceeding.

"Hello," he intoned carefully at the cheery female voice. "Yes, I'd like to make another appointment with Dr. Sherman." He waited as the receptionist flipped paperwork. "As soon as possible."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – I have no internet access at the moment (having trouble switching to high speed), so I went to the local internet cafe to upload this (dedicated huh). That being said, who knows when the next will come?_

_Bluestriker666 – thanks :)_

_Sky Samuelle – I got your next chapter but as I have no internet it might be a while before I can get it back to you. As for Dan, I always thought it was a bit unrealistic that he would turn out to be this great lover when he'd never had sex before Serena. I'm dooming him to be bad forever; he just needs to learn :)_

_Maha elahi – You have to remember that Dan and Serena have been broken up for several months at this point. _

_Puresimplicity – Bart and Chuck have turned a corner. It doesn't mean there won't be up and downs but they're headed in the right direction. (BTW: i hate Lily now too though I'm interested to see what happens between her and Chuck in the next. I'm betting that Chuck didn't sign any papers to properly make Jack his guardian and I think Lily is going to end up being it._

_BlackLace – Yeah, contrary to what sometimes comes across I do like Dan. He gets on my nerves at time but I see him as a very realistic character (except for the left field Georgina bit but *eh*)_

_Aledda – Personally I think that DB would never truly work because I think deep down there has to be at least a common ground. _

_:D – I think that B & D could be quite good friends on one level._

_Doxeh – Now I feel bad because I am a high school teacher. *shakes head and waves finger*. I'm glad you enjoyed it though._

_GrantingTroyTurner – As for the overdose and the alcohol poisoning: They are two separate events and will happen to characters that (a) have established either drinking or drug problems and (b) one of them are going to die (that won't be the only death in this book)_

_C – I do like Dan I just don't buy he's a great lover despite having zero experience._

_Up Next: New Years but who is kissing who? Depressed lovers bring trips over the bridge._


	7. Chapter Three Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Three – Part One**

_December 30, 2008_

_It's the end of a year, a time to reflect on the past and plan for the future: Except I've decided to skip the reflection entirely and put all my energy into drafting a more successful future. _

_Why should I hold onto 2008? There is nothing worth remembering. I was cheated on, lied to, loved and hated. I almost had everything I wanted, but almost isn't quite success, it's just failure better dressed. I learned what it meant to truly love someone, not in the girlish way that I had loved Nate but in a deeper way. I learned to love like a woman but it didn't bring me happiness. I learned that love will push you to give until you break and I don't particularly like being broken. I'm done with it._

_This time I'm going to plant my seed in worthwhile soil. This time I'm going to give my love to someone who appreciates me. After all, if my mother has taught me anything, it's that you might just discover a diamond while dumpster diving._

_Blair Waldorf_

Eric knocked against the hard wood of Bart's office. They'd assembled and then scattered following the evening meal, Bart returning as he did most nights to his study. His stepfather had moved a little faster that night then most, and Eric knew it was because of the chilling between his two parents. Eric had guessed the homecoming when Bart candidly stated that Lily suggested he come to California alone. Chuck had been more forthcoming with the source. He'd confessed Bart held a private investigator on retainer.

Eric had been horrified at first, but that was before he had use for one. "Enter," Eric heard the cold voice from within and winced even before his hand touched the metal of the knob. "Eric," Bart put down his reading glasses. He hardly ever wore the things, too much a sign of weakness for the Bass pride. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the youngest Van der Bass, proving both that Bart had no really pressing business, and that the older man was trying. "What can I do for you?"

"I know you have a private investigator. I need him to find something for me."

Bart looked the youngest Van der Bass from head to toe and then slipped his glasses back on. "Absolutely not."

"I could find my own," Eric reminded his stepfather. "But I'd rather use the best."

Bart ground his teeth a moment, flipping through his paperwork as if the motion could help him to make the decision. "Tell me what it is and I'll see to it."

"I can't do that. It's a matter of great delicacy."

"So is preserving a marriage," Bart reminded the younger boy.

"I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important."

Bart let his jaw work another few moments. Then he grabbed a slip of blank paper and wrote a name. He slipped it across to the younger boy. "This didn't come from me."

Eric agreed with a shake of his head, folding the paper and making it disappear.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stared intensely at the bland watercolour on the opposite wall, a mess of yellows and blues that looked more like finger-painting than artwork. Dr. Sherman grabbed a couple books from the sprawling cases while Chuck tried to find a recognizable shape in the blended mess.

"Well Mr. Bass," Dr. Sherman started as he walked back to his desk. Chuck flinched because that is his father's name. He considered mentioning it to the doctor, but that would likely parlay into a side avenue that Chuck'd rather avoid. He was here for another reason. "What brings you back to my office?"

Chuck thought about it for a long time. He had been thinking about it for a long time. There were so many things, but most of it was difficult to put to words so he started with the one thing that could be qualitatively measured. "I want to stop drinking."

"Ah," the doctor muttered noncommittally and made a few notations in his spiral. "And how much have you had to drink today?"

Chuck tried to remember, he really did. The problem was that it had been so many years since he'd put it to qualitative number. When he had been ten years old, sneaking liquor from his parent's cabinet, ounces had been vital. Now he had a liquor cabinet of his own and the glasses blended seamlessly into one another. "I honestly don't remember."

Sherman made several more slashes with his pencil and Chuck felt the need to squirm. "What age did you start drinking?"

"Nine."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair thumped her heels against the cracked pavement. The nondescript building lay before her, all brickwork and old windows. She remembered the call number from months ago. It was the only other time she'd visited the Humphrey loft alone and the purpose had been so different. It was easy enough to march in when anger provided a mission; it was far more difficult when the mission was a convoluted anagram.

Blair had spent the evening alone at Socialista, well, technically she was with Penelope, Kat and Is, but that could be considered alone. Sometime between the third and forth glass of wine, and the second and third trip to the bathroom, Blair had come to a conclusion: her life had become an unmanageable mess. She had not only dropped the slip of control she held over her darker urges, she had run half a mile away from it. She'd run so far that she had lost sight of normalcy. She had stared at the candlelit mirrors, and not even recognized herself.

She deserved so much more. She deserved to have someone care for her, to hold her up, to make her better. Chuck Bass could never be that man. He had all the emotional maturity of a six month old infant. Dan Humphrey might. Dan had taken Serena, sanded her rough edges and for a time transformed her into someone stable. That's what she wanted to be. And Serena? She'd thrown it all away; she couldn't have any rights to him now.

Maybe Blair should have felt guilty (the truth was she did though she was doing a good job of suppressing it) but she didn't feel loyal to Serena in this moment. Serena had promised to be there for her, had sworn that they were sisters and then had disappeared across the country. It was just like the spring before, or the summer before that. Serena had not sought her out, had not called for an explanation. The blonde had done the opposite, refused Blair's calls and believed Gossip Girl on sight.

Serena was really good at flowery speeches; it's too bad she never learned to carry through.

"Blair?" The curious voice intoned from behind and she spun to see Dan standing there. He was wearing a patchwork jacket and jeans, the lingering smell of coffee threaded through the fabric. His button down shirt was open at the collar, and his hair was rumpled through. Blair felt a little jump at the base of her stomach, it wasn't butterflies but fear. There was no going back after this, and she wasn't sure it was worth it. But then the words came.

"Are you alright?" Dan asked and she could hear his genuine concern.

And God if that wasn't all she wanted.

So she threw herself into his arms, kissing him with even more enthusiasm then she felt. He tried to pull back at first and Blair was surprised to feel unbothered by the rejection. The reflex didn't last, not when her perfume tickled his senses and when her pleasing form twisted close to his. His lingering doubts were chased away when he remembered just how long it had been since Serena and how much he had grown to adore her brunette best friend.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck pressed his hand to the metal fence and bent at the waist. His breath was coming in gasps and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick but the sensation mercifully passed. The grass field wavered for a moment, but then a blonde head steadied beside him.

"You're out of practice," Nate explained, his breathing still blissfully even.

"It's like the beginning all over again," Chuck choked out, finally sitting on the uneven pavement.

"You'll get your stamina back," Nate explained. "It'll just take some time."

Chuck shook his head. "Thank you," he stared up at his friend with a genuine smile for his genuine friend. There weren't many boys who would drop everything to go for a run at 9 o'clock at night just because Chuck needed it. Chuck didn't even have to explain the need part, Nate just understood.

"You want to get changed and head out?" Nate suggested. "The night is still young."

"I'm not," Chuck put his head against the metal links and shut his eyes. "I'm exhausted."

"You're too tired to go out?" Nate raised both brows in disbelief. "On the holiday break," Nate shook his head. "Can I get your refusal on film?"

"Of course not! I have a reputation to uphold," Chuck said with a wry grin. "Now if you could just help me up," He put a hand out and the other boy assisted. Once Chuck was to his feet, Nate gave him a slap on the back and started out in the opposite direction. "Oh Nate,' Chuck called out before the boy was too far away. "I'm sorry about Vanessa."

Nate shook his shoulders. "Some things just weren't meant to be."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair and Dan stood for a time after they kissed, fingers intertwined and faces hidden from the blustery winds. For two such academic all stars, very little was exchanged by speech. It was too strange to put to words. So they just studied each other, eyes searching for an answer in the shape of the other's eyes or angle of their chin.

"I misjudged you," Dan admitted. "I thought you were a heartless bitch."

"And I'm not," Blair eyed him with a disbelieving smirk.

"You're a heart filled bitch," Dan said, smile in matching form. Blair laughed at the thought, impulse pulling her hands back but he didn't let them go. "I was so used to seeing the world in two dimensions that I never saw the goodness in you. I'm sorry for that."

Blair's smile turned from amusement to wonder. There was something in his eyes, in the way that he looked at her, that was so pleasing. It wasn't love, passion or anything in between. She could see that he valued her and that he truly believed in her. There were so many people that she wished saw her that way, and maybe Dan Humphrey wasn't one of them, but she could almost fall in love with being respected.

"I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Blair admitted.

"That's just sad."

"Shut up," Blair tried to silence the heart warming moment.

This time when they lapsed into silence, there was no discomfort fraying at the edges. "So what are you doing for New Years?" Dan asked, and she could almost hear the hope in his words.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck scanned the card to 1812 and kicked off his shoes once the door opened. He didn't even bother with the lights; he didn't bother with changing into his silk pyjamas. He wanted nothing except his bed, to fall contented beneath the rich cotton sheets. He stubbed his foot on something out of place and silently cursed the sibling of choice.

Chuck yawned before he reached the side bedroom, rubbed at his eyes as he walked. When he caught sight of the bed he didn't bother to slide gently under the covers. He stood at the end of the bed and let his body fall head first onto the king bed.

Except his face didn't land on his comfort pillow, and his elbows didn't bounce against his mattress. His body fell onto another, far less soft and malleable then his usual bed mate.

"What the hell," The accented boy put up a hand to protect his face and Chuck suddenly felt very awake.

He exchanged a curse of his own and scrambled from the bed. Grabbing madly at the side lamp, he pulled so hard that the ceramic vase fell from the table. It bounced on the thick carpeting, light flooding the expansive suite. Once Chuck saw the unwelcome guest he marched straight from the room. Damien scurried out behind him but Chuck didn't even acknowledge him. Chuck took the phone from his jacket pocket and dialled without a backward glance.

"Eric Van der Woodsen," He yelled into the phone. "You have ten minutes to get upstairs or your lover is going home, via the window."

"Chuck," The British voice interfered with Chuck's darkening thoughts. It figures, the idiot would finally get the name right. Chuck put one finger up and waved it in front of the older boy's face. "You....don't exist!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric scanned the coffee shop, looking for the stereotypical three piece suit and pot belly. He prayed that Bart's man would have the information that Eric needed, the information he'd promised Chuck nearly a week ago. It might be the only chance Eric had to avoid being hung by his toenails from the thirty-second floor.

The youngest Van der Bass could see an arm wave in greeting. The man who possessed it was nothing like Eric expected: he was younger and more polished than a private investigator ought to be.

"Eric Van der Woodsen," The man eyed him up and down.

"As you see," Eric sat down.

"I don't usually take requests from children."

"Money knows no age," Eric reminded him and took a large manila envelope from his pocket. He pushed it halfway across the table, the investigator moving to take the bundle of cash, but then Eric pulled it back. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," He teased with a wide grin.

Andrew Tyler took a look at Eric's giddy excitement and remembered again why he didn't work with adolescents. He took a matching envelop from his grey pinstripe suit and handed it to the teenager with a deliberately unimpressed scowl. "I can say definitely that Ms. Georgina Sparks has had no contact with your boyfriend."

"Former boyfriend," Eric mumbled automatically. "How can you be so sure?"

"Read the paperwork," Mr. Tyler held his hand out expectantly.

Eric ripped into the envelope before he handed payment over: from it fell a stack of hospital bills, telephone logs and registration forms. Andrew Tyler settled into his chair, realizing, even before Eric asked the question that this wasn't going to be an easy drop and run. "What are these?"

"A record of Ms. Sparks movements in the last month. After leaving New York, the young woman moved into her family home in New Mexico. It's a beautiful home by all accounts, a huge rancher style home with three hundred acres..."

"And this matters because..."

"She went through detox there."

"Excuse me," Eric's jaw dropped at the mere thought.

"Ms. Sparks hired a medical doctor and two nurses. They took care of her for the most part, though she did spend a couple nights in the local hospital," the PI fished through the paperwork to find the right documents.

"Are you sure you have the right person?" Eric asked.

"I don't make mistakes," the PI was offended by the mere thought. "After this she enrolled in New Pathways."

"Which is?"

"It's a very controversial rehabilitation centre in Brazil. It uses amongst other strategies, corporal punishment and hypnosis."

Eric rolled his eyes at the familiar set up. "She planned her original takedown from rehab."

"The basis of this program is total detachment from the outside world. God himself couldn't call a resident."

"You want me to believe that Georgina Sparks enrolled herself in some mind-altering, experimental drug and alcohol centre?"

"Celebrated her eighteenth birthday by signing on the dotted line," Andrew Tyler grabbed the most important paper and slipped it in front of the sixteen year old. "Enrolled herself for a year," he pointed out "and _this_ place doesn't let you skip out early."

"This is a bit much to believe," Eric looked up at the older man.

"The truth usually is."

"How about other ways?" Eric fished. "Through the Foundation?"

"That is all in litigation. It ain't pretty."

"Litigation?"

"The Ewan Foundation is trying to recover their investment."

"How much are we talking about?"

"I think your boyfriend can kiss his trust goodbye."

Eric didn't bother correcting the investigator that time. He just shoved the money packet across the table and then pulled his hand back to cover his lips, tracing every inch in thought. He had wanted a guarantee so why was he still so insecure with that guarantee in hand?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The room was draped in silver and blue, thick silk competing with sheer white accents. Chuck was seated by the floor to ceiling windows, Serena at her side. Outside were seas of revellers, prepared to greet a new year. Despite the general atmosphere, Chuck felt only emptiness. He chimed his rapidly draining glass against his sister. He'd managed to stay sober for a grand total of thirty-three hours. Thirty-three hours! How pathetic was that? He'd have drowned in hopelessness but he was slowly drowning in alcohol instead. Serena was matching him at the side, blonde curls falling flat, chin progressively closer to the table.

The sources of their discontent glided more easily through the room, slim white gloves tucked into the crock of a rented tuxedo. Chuck's eyes nearly crossed in the effort it took to keep the pair in his line of sight. Blair looked like perfection itself clothed in a long cream dress with tight boning details and inlaid crystals. Her hair was swept up to one side, curls half enclosed and half hanging free. He'd never seen her wear the style before but it showed her neck to perfection, angling with her perfect bone structure.

Serena rolled her eyes and released the last few drops of champagne into her mouth.

"More?" Chuck slurred into his glass.

"You read my mind," Serena smiled through her haze, and then let her head rest on Chuck's shoulder.

"Eric," Chuck barked at his brother who was mingling to the side, Brit interloper staying at stage right. Chuck waved his finger in a circle and then pointed at the counter. "More alcohol."

"Brilliant," Serena murmured into his silk vest.

Eric leaned forward and his other siblings prepared themselves for the snark. It never came. After all, Eric owed Chuck more than just a few trips to the bar and so he scurried off to the front.

All of a sudden lights flashed through the room, reflecting off the strategically placed disco balls. A cheer went through the crowd, the excitement spreading through every corner. The revellers stood in every available space, everyone but Serena and Chuck. They might have if they still had the power of movement.

**10..........9..........8..........**

"Please tell me that's not what I think," Serena dragged her head back up and glared at the joyful collective.

"It's nearly 2009," Chuck took a deep breath and attempted a smile.

"Do you think they're going to kiss?" Serena stared at the moving slideshow couple and nearly gagged on the thought.

"I'm glad I skipped dinner," Chuck scowled.

**7..........6..........5...........**

"I think I'm starting to throw up already," Serena decided as Dan and Blair wrapped there arms around one another.

"I think I need someone to kiss...myself," Chuck decided with a scan of the room. He very suddenly regretted drinking the entire evening away. There must have been someone passable in the thick crowd.

**4..........3.........2...........**

"Good luck with that," Serena laughed. "The sluts were snatched up hours ago."

"Except you," Chuck recovered himself with a well-timed smirk.

"I don't remember ever sleeping with you," Serena arched a brow, drunk enough to sidestep that incident that would never been discussed.

"Drink more," Chuck suggested "And I'll make something up."

**1..........Happy New Year**

The room exploded in a blast of noise and movement: friends hugged, lovers embraced but to Chuck and Serena the room was empty except for a pair of brunette heads. There was something pathetic about the way they stared as their two former lovers meet at the lips.

Chuck was about to make a snide comment when he felt Serena move from his shoulder to his face. She took his chin in her hands and kissed him with all her strength. Chuck didn't pull away, when would he ever pull away from a beautiful woman? Instead he moved with the moment, one hand tracing to the base of the blonde's hairline, fingers teasing through her thick curls, the other leaving goose bumps as he trailed the skin from her shoulder to her wrist. He lost himself in the moment, mouth opening without hesitation. He let her slip more fully against her, traded scotch for champagne coated tongues, and tender caresses for rougher kisses. By the time they parted, nothing had been left untouched. With anyone else it would have continued; would have started something that could only end in rumpled sheets and bruised skin.

But with Serena...it was...well...

"That was interesting," Serena started and Chuck noticed how she stared at her empty flute.

"Kind of gross really," Chuck emptied his own glass in an attempt to sanitize his mouth.

"Disgusting really," Serena agreed.

"Thank God," Eric returned with four drinks. "There are things that even I can't stomach."

Serena grabbed the flute with lightning speed, quickly emptying the contents into her mouth. She swallowed before she spoke. "When did you genuinely become my brother?" She asked with a shudder.

"Hell if I know," Chuck said raising his own glass.

Across the room three sets of eyes followed the scene with far more interest then they ought to. One quickly recognized the body language, but the other two continued their rage filled scrutiny long into the next dance.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – still on the internet cafe route. I need to get my internet fixed already!_

_Annablake – I'm so glad you're reading this story as well. And I loved all the reviews you left both for this one and the rest of YCFYF. I was on a happy buzz for hours :) Yeah, I love the little bit of irony in Chuck hating PD. I'm a huge, massive PD fan so I had to pull some of my musical tastes in._

_Ashtondene – Dr. Sherman is going to have a bit to play in this story._

_GrantingTroyTurner – Georgina is safely locked away for a year which is longer than the spectrum of this story (excepting the last chapter). She is not getting out and she does not appear in this story at all._

_Puresimplicity – I think Chuck has a lot to work on before he and Blair could work for the long haul_

_Sinfulangel – I promise to fix them, but it might not be immediately_

_SkySamuelle – this book definitely delves into Chuck's alcoholism. Will he break the habit? You'll have to wait and see._

_Bradshawesque – thank you for the wonderful review of not just this story but also TH and YCFYF. I'm always excited to get a new reader._

_Bluestriker – The scene in this story did remind me of the one on Monday's show. And honestly I don't blame Blair for abandoning Chuck on the show. I am very disappointed in what they did with C's character. It seems like even the death of his father couldn't break his usual habits. It was a complete repeat of Tuscany. I have little faith in show-Chuck at this point and I'm mad that they killed off Bart to still keep Chuck essentially the same._

_Doxeh – yeah, I'm glad to hear it :) _

_:D – thank you :)_

_Aledda – thanks for the wonderful review! I'm kind of happy that Blair didn't get lulled into taking C back right away. If they did, then they'd just crash and burn pretty quick (I think)._

_Up Next – An explanation of why Blair now considers Cyrus a diamond, One set of eyes makes it to Serena's side, Damien finally meets the Van der Basses and Lily hatches a plot of her own, but she really ought to reconsider._


	8. Chapter Three Part Two

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Three – Part Two**

The dim lights of the elevator danced across the crystals of Blair's dress, creating a shimmering flash with every laugh. She covered her mouth but could not contain the giggles. They echoed through the closed space and Blair put a hand to mirrors to try to contain herself. She felt like she'd had too much to drink, her head spun and still Dan waxed on beside her. "And that my dear," He assured her with his usually blend of frankness. "Is why one shouldn't partake in an open bar."

"Did you see the Kat and the waiter?"

"I think _everyone_ got to know her just a little bit better." Dan put his hands to his pockets. "Though they may have been outdone by that freshman boy."

"The one who upchucked in the fruit bowl." Blair gave an artificial shudder. "I'll never see melon balls the same."

"Kids these days," Dan mocked into the small space. "Did you see the sophomores? The worst kiss of the evening."

"I wanted to offer them matching bibs." Blair's shudder was genuine this time. "But that was hardly the worst."

"You can do better?"

"Please," Blair rolled her eyes. "Chuck and Serena!" Did he not see the matching disgusted gags, the instinctual downing of liquor? Blair had found it momentarily disturbing but then twistingly delightful.

Apparently Dan didn't share her humour. The joy dropped abruptly from the boy's face, laughter turning to deafening silence. Blair put a hand to her clutch and tried to backtrack.

The elevator stopped, opening doors granting a reprieve.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric kicked his feet at the breakfast bar of 1812. He stared at the plateful of eggs and bacon, stuffing one spoonful after another. Damien sat across from him, mirroring the younger boy's movements. They were avoiding the conversation and both were aware of it. It wasn't the only thing they were avoiding. Why else would Eric have scurried off at ten seconds to midnight?

Eric cut a slice of bacon and chanced a look upward. Damien looked worn down, and Eric knew it wasn't just because it they'd spent the last night on champagne high. It was easy enough for Eric to convince himself he acted out of pity. He was protecting Damien solely from sympathy, the boy had lost so much and while it was entirely the Brit's own fault, one couldn't help but pity him. He'd tried to convince Chuck that it was the basis of his actions, but his brother was too intelligent to be fooled.

"To a New Year," Damien took his glass of juice and offered the toast they'd sidestepped the night before. "A new beginning," and as casually as that he'd breeched the unspoken topic. Eric inched his fingers to glass and Damien understood the hesitation.

Eric didn't know how to answer, so he just let the question hang, eyes closing instinctively. There was nothing he hated more than uncertainty, and this situation offered so much.

"If there is a chance, it doesn't matter how small and I will strive to earn it." Damien stared straight at the younger boy, waiting for some kind of answer to play through Eric's pale features.

"You need to move out," Eric decided as he opened his eyes. The Brit breathed deeply and turned his head, his watering eyes turned to tears but he nodded his head in acceptance. "Find a place back in Brooklyn, or maybe the Village."

Damien's face snapped back at the suggestion. "Do you mean..."

"We'll start back at the beginning," Eric decided and pushed his plate aside. Damien was going to talk more but Eric had gone far enough for a single morning. So he rose and with a sincere smile, left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was three o'clock in the morning but the Waldorf town home was aglow, soft music drifting through the entrance hall. Blair handed her floor length coat to Dorota who was still up despite the hour. "Happy New Year," Blair smiled at the older woman, Dan repeating the sentiment as the maid took his coat, dissolving into the building when her task was done.

"So it's 2009," Dan whispered into his date's ear. "A brand new beginning," He leaned closer, curving his chest to her back. Blair turned her face to his, and was for a moment disconcerted by the closeness. She nearly pulled back, but before a decision was needed in either respect a voice interrupted them both.

"Blair, is that you?" Cyrus called from the top of the stairs. Blair stepped away from Dan, waving up at her mother's fiancée. She exchanged a genuine smile with the man who was slowly winning her over. Come up, your mother is waiting with champagne."

"Champagne," Blair turned to the Brooklyn boy with a smirk. She offered her hand, relishing the feeling when he wrapped it in his. "Don't worry," she teased "we won't make you drink any."

"How considerate," Dan used their intertwined hands to guide her to the stairwell. "After you."

"Blair," Eleanor joined her fiancée at the stairwell, smile dipping slightly when she caught sight of her daughter's companion. "Daniel," She clipped in a far less friendly tone.

Blair could have been offended but she chose to focus on the two flutes in her mother's hand. She chose to focus on that fact that her mother was here rather than tanning in a South American country. It was Cyrus' influence, he had a way to bend her mother's will with a blend of anecdote and honestly.

How could she hate someone like that?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Van der Basses assembled at two o'clock that afternoon to take a meal affectionately coined Lunner. It was a sea of bleary eyes, pounding headaches and aspirin sharing lead by, of all people, Lily and Bart Bass. Lily liked a few glasses of wine but Bart was rarely one to overindulge. The children would have been surprised but, considering the current state of the union, it wasn't entirely inexplicable. Silence reigned supreme as the company feasted on salads and cold cuts, broken only when a servant entered the room and waved Serena to the main room.

Once Serena rounded a central pole she caught sight of her visitor. Nate stood at the foot of the sofa, bouquet of daisies in hand. The scene was eerily reminiscent of one that had taken place months before. He wore the same shade of navy, this time in a thick cashmere sweater, and his khakis has the same rumpled perfection.

"You brought flowers," Serena eyed the bouquet with mixed feelings.

"I'm willing to try again," Nate explained and, this time, rather than tossing the daisies on the table, he held them forward. "I broke up with Vanessa."

"I know that."

"I am free to offer," Nate stretched his hand to her and she knew he wasn't talking about the flowers. "You're not drunk," Nate reminded her. "And I'm growing stronger."

"I know," Serena repeated, but she couldn't bring herself to accept the flowers. She'd lie if she said she wasn't affected. She'd always been fascinated with the boy who had been Blair's ideal. She'd always traced his cheekbones when no one else was looking and never had to fake her laughter at his juvenile jokes.

It should have been an easy choice but it couldn't be. Nate was tied to her moment of greatest shame, and somehow she could never consider him romantically without the accompanying feelings of guilt.

"You don't have to decide now," Nate offered, already strengthened by no outright refusal. "Take these," Nate pressed the small bouquet into her tanned fingers. "Think about the rest."

Serena accepted the gift without promise. She watched the tall boy depart, and then stared at the bright yellow bulbs, fingers tracing each delicate petal.

"Why didn't you say yes?" Chuck startled her with his words. She turned to watch him appear from the shadow of the other room.

"It's not any of your business," Serena glared at her sneaky brother.

"We're family." Chuck reminded his sister with a smirk.

"Don't remind me," Serena rolled her eyes. "You're not the brother that knows me best."

"I know that even _you_ would not have betrayed Blair just to appease your vanity."

"It doesn't matter!"

"What are you waiting for? Until he cheats on the next girlfriend? Third time's a charm?"

"That's exactly it," Serena promised, eyes turning back to the closed door. "Nothing good can start in infidelity."

"It's charming that you're trying to have morals," Chuck rolled his eyes. "Did Dan teach you or is self-righteousness simply contagious?" He said with a deliberate step further to the right.

"Shut up Chuck," Serena pushed past her older brother, daisies still clutched firmly in her hands.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck lay on his bed, legs angling from one side of the bed to the other. He held a book of prose in his left hand, trying to keep pace by following the rows with his right. A hiss of frustration grated the air when he lost his place yet again. His eyes glazed over in boredom and he shook his head to refocus them. Once Bart had recognized Chuck's genuine interest in school and his desire to do well, his father had manoeuvred two extra weeks rather than the one Chuck had begged for. He had two weeks to prepare to write last terms finals.

It ought to be enough but Chuck was floundering. He's pushed through a week already, balancing the new curriculum with a review of last term. He'd breezed easily through the physics, the calculus; even history could be reduced to logical succession or cause and effect. But English? That was the hopeless exercise. He needed Blair. It wasn't the month of school he'd missed before the break, it was the decades of school he'd only ever half attended. He flipped the pages back and forth, releasing a wave of pungent air to his dried face. Then with a final shake he let his arm fall onto the bed behind him, book hitting the floor with a thud.

He knew what he wanted to accomplish, he'd decided it on the first day of school. He'd watched Blair parade her replacement prince from the cafeteria to the front steps. She ought to be embarrassed to associate with such trash but she wasn't. And Dan? For a boy once called lonely he walked with such conceited airs. His nose was higher in the air than boys with five times his worth. Chuck knew why. Dan thought he was better than the rest, smarter than the sons of the elite. And as God was his witness, Chuck want to knock Dan right off his smug pedestal.

He rolled over and grabbed the anthology from the floor. He sat up straight, crossing his long legs beneath him. He tried to focus and to ignore the nagging voice that assured him he had set his sights too high.

It wasn't possible. A Bass could achieve anything he set his mind to. He just needed to think like his father and to plan his takedown with a businesslike edge

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric passed the metal key from hand to hand as he climbed cement steps to the fourth floor. Damien had rented another artist loft in Brooklyn, his first step after moving paintings was to hand the second key to Eric. He'd done is unsentimentally, mentioning something about the logic of the arrangement. Eric was his sole friend in New York. At least it would have been logical, had the older boy's voice not cracked over the pronunciation of friend.

Still, it was a role the two had fallen into, trading banter, watching television and debating the best albums of 2008. It was comfortable and that's that they both needed in that moment. Eric reached the small apartment and slipped the key in. He opened the door silently, greeted by the smell of brewed coffee and air freshener. He missed the stench of paint or plaster but Damien would not paint. The entire collection had been put in storage and neither of them discussed it.

Damien was sitting at the small kitchen table, flanked by two other men, both of them considerably older. Damien didn't notice the younger boy enter; he was too intent on the documents in front of him. Eric stood for a moment, considered leaving as quietly as he had come. In the end he slipped his shoes off and stood motionless at the door.

Damien was signing in triplicate, pausing briefly between sheets of paper. The two men were explaining terms, one with as thick as British accent as Damien himself, the other with a polished American one. Between signatures Damien put his pinkie to his mouth, chewing absently. He rubbed his neck and touched the deep crevices that had taken root beneath his light eyes.

"Are we done yet?" Damien asked with just the smallest hint of desperation.

"Very close to it," The British lawyer intoned and shoved a few more papers in front.

Eric coughed just loud enough to alert the rest to his presence. When Damien caught sight of him, his eyes shut in embarrassment, hand falling fully over them. Eric took the hint and started to rebutton his coat. "Don't leave," Damien intoned without even looking over. "Please," He signed the last few papers, "Are we done now."

The two gentlemen nodded, the American quickly gathering his copies and making his way to the door, the other lawyer hesitated longer. "I'll fax a copy to your mother," He explained and Damien nodded. If the accent hadn't been enough, Eric understood that this was the man lobbying his boyfriend's interests.

Damien didn't stand when the others left. He stayed sitting at the small table, eyes fixed to the documents in front. He traded pinkie for each the fingers of his left hand. Eric had never seen him bite his nails before; it seemed so out of place for the brass man Damien had been. Eric crossed the room and ran a finger across his boyfriend's shoulders. The Brit shuffled the documents, covering his loss with another sheet of words. "Would you like something to drink?" Damien stood abruptly. "I have beer or..." His words trailed off as the older boy tried to think.

"Beer is good," Eric agreed, leaning on the table and Damien moved to the small apartment kitchen. The moment the Brit disappeared behind the half wall, Eric moved his fingertips to the stack of papers and moved them left and right until he found the number.

He gasped despite himself, and then quickly covered his mouth as if he could smother the already uttered sound. He looked once more and then quickly reshuffled the twenty page document. Eric realized something then. Georgiana had played her games with them all but she'd only truly destroyed her accomplice. She'd played with Chuck's emotions, broken Eric's heart, dragged Serena down with her but they were all feelings and spirit's would mend. Damien's reputation as an artist had been destroyed and, based on these papers; he'd been bankrupted as well. Those things couldn't be recovered over a bottle of beer or with a loving touch.

But that's all Eric could give. So he took the beer with a grateful smile and then offered Damien something he had wanted a long time ago. "My mother wants to meet you."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair sat in the Humphrey galleries, took residence in the small cafe that had been created. Vanessa darted back and forth, clearing tables and refilling the cups of the small crowd gathered. Blair ran her eyes up and down the essay she'd prepared, red pen at ready to correct any mistakes that had been missed in the second and third reading. She stopped over a long quotation and grabbed her novel to check the notation.

Dan stood behind her, reading the introduction from over her shoulder. After a moment it bothered her and she waved him to the side. He slipped into the booth and asked her the topic.

"In Pride and Prejudice," Blair let her eyes fall to the novel, "Which main character suffers most from inappropriate pride?"

"That's easy," Dan decided, pushing his bag to the far side of the booth. "Darcy."

"Hardly," Blair rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. "Mr. Darcy's pride is essential to his character, to the sphere that he inhibits and the role he must take. Elizabeth's is based in vanity. That is the greater flaw."

"Of course you would see it that way," Dan rolled his own eyes.

"Austen understood that pride could be both positive and negative. Darcy must be the manager of other men; he must command respect and obedience. To do that successfully he must have self-respect, honour and integrity."

"But where is the boundary to vanity?"

"He has no inflated sense of self," Blair countered. "Elizabeth has nothing beyond wit and vivacity and yet she sees herself superior to those around her, even those who have much more than her."

"You make no allowance for her intelligence."

"Her society wouldn't. Intelligence was a detriment to a woman in the Regency. She ought not to prize it so."

"Yet it attracts the attention of Darcy."

"Because she is different. For a time I'm sure he'd be fascinated by it but I do wonder how long that fascination would last. Could they be truly happy?" Blair put a book down on the table. "Or would he tire of her when the novelty wore off? When he recognized how unequal they truly were."

"You undermine both their growth, the development of love?"

"Love is subjective," Blair assured him and chewed absently on her pencil.

Vanessa pushed a coffee cup into her friend's outstretched hand and Dan drank in thought.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric knocked on the familiar door, sounds of Brooklyn playing through the drafty building. When no one responded he pulled at the handle to find the door unlocked. "Damien," he called out as he entered the space. At first there was no reply and Eric walked further into the apartment. Then the Brit emerged from the bedroom door, twisting his tie into place as he walked. He wore a dark black suit, grey shirt finishing the sombre appearance.

"I know I'm late," Damien kicked at pairs of shoes until he found a passable pair of black Oxfords. He slipped them on and then dug through his pockets. With a repentant curse he moved back towards the kitchen.

Eric followed him all the way in, eyes grazing the room. Damien shuffled through the papers on the countertop, but Eric's eyes didn't follow him. They fixated on something else. To the side of the room were two easels. They'd remained empty since the Brit had moved in and likely would have been stored if Eric hadn't insisted otherwise. Now they both had a painting laid across them.

Or what might have once been a painting. They were once blue and grey works of art, but the thick canvas had been sliced through. Eric eyed the shredded pieces with apprehension.

"What are these?" Eric tried a casual tone.

Damien glared at the paintings. "The Grant Gallery sent them from their back storage. I'd changed my mind about using them in the show...forgot about them."

"And what did you do to them?" Eric asked in shock.

"Does it matter?" Damien asked, and Eric didn't know how to respond. It's something new." He walked from one side of the paintings to the other. Then with a rough slap, he sent one of the destroyed canvases to the floor. "Call it deconstructionism."

"Damien," Eric shook his head.

"We're late," Damien reminded the other boy and grabbed his thickest coat. He turned back at the blonde and deliberately lightened his mood. "And I'd like to make a better impression this time."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Van der Bass table was set with its usual precision, freshly cut fruit providing a centrepiece, saffron rice contrasting against halibut white. Chuck had, for the first time, sat away from his brother. He held court with Serena at one end, giving his seat reluctantly to the invited guest. Chuck passed his glass of water from one hand to the other, watching his brother's whatever-he-was through narrowed eyes. The Brit was fumbling through the small talk he'd aced only months prior, mumbling when he usually spoke clearly, touching his face when he usually had poised hands to table.

"What do you think?" Serena asked hesitantly, her own eyes watching the opposite exchange with curiosity.

"I thought I'd trained Eric better," Chuck decided and took a gulp. There was no comforting burn and Chuck put it back to the table with a disgusted wince. Serena said something else but Chuck didn't notice. The main server stepped between them with a bottle of wine but Chuck waved her off. When he looked back to his sister, she was staring back in intrigued curiosity. It's a terrible year," Chuck extinguished before a question could come. When Serena leaned forward, ignoring the pathetic excuse, he tried another tactic. "So how's Nate?" It worked. Serena sat immediately back, slicing her asparagus to bits.

Chuck took another sip of the cool liquid and then waved the server back over. "Maybe some juice?" He tried, turning his eyes back to the main exchange. Lily was paying rapt attention to every word, her previous investigative questions forgotten. That's not to say she wasn't fishing. She kept dropping hints about the art world, and Chuck knew she was trying to draw out the truth of how Damien had made headline news. Why he'd dropped his show two days before success. Chuck also knew that if his stepmother didn't succeed now that she'd find out soon enough. Lily Bass wasn't one to run from a mystery.

"Mr. Charles," Another servant stepped into the dining room, woman in following. "Miss Chang to see you." Chuck let his eyes graze over the slender Asian, satisfied smirk spreading over his features. She was beautiful, with almond eyes that disappeared beneath thick, black bangs. She was so small that her overstuffed bag nearly pulled her to the ground.

"I didn't think you'd regress to call girls," Serena whispered disapprovingly in his ear.

"Whatever do you mean?" Chuck asked, smirk intensifying with his sister's disgust.

"She's alternating with _Ms_. Wright on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Chuck winked at his sister. "I'd stay and trade barbs but business..." he left the sentence deliberately open as he bowed in leave.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily stared up at the thick, black lettering that spelled out Bedford Avenue Gallery. Her heart jumped and she held the bottle of wine a little tighter, trying to remind herself of the reasons she was here. It was her son; it was just about her son and nothing more. Besides, she was doing Rufus a favour and friend's helped each other. As Chuck had predicted, Lily had gotten the truth from her son after some leading questions. It was the abbreviated version, the cleaned up version but it was enough.

She could have let the topic drop then but why would she? She had the means to correct things, at least to a certain degree. Suitably justified, Lily pushed the gallery door open. It was hours from opening, but the unlocked door told Lily all she needed to know. She could have called to be sure, but she was a little too nervous to plan things fully.

Rufus was perched at the top of a ladder, tattooed arms removing a floor to ceiling portrait. When he turned around and saw who had entered the shock registered fully. His face slacked expressionless for a moment, and then he hastily lowered the enormous canvas to the floor, scurrying down the metal slats. "Lily," he greeted his former lover in shock.

"Rufus," Lily smiled.

"I...," Rufus paused awkwardly. "Welcome. How can I help you?" He brushed the dust from his hands.

"I might be able to help you." Lily countered.

An intrigued smile tugged at one corner of Rufus' lips. He leaned back against the metal ladder and waited for Lily to elaborate.

"I brought a bottle of wine," She brandished the Cabernet Sauvignon. "And a proposition."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So a transitional, get the action moving chapter with again no C&B scenes. There will be a couple next chapter. I promise._

_I'm having mixed feelings about the show right now. I love that Chuck decided to move back in with the Van der Woodsens (potentially more Chuck-Eric sibling love), but I'm more than a bit freaked/potentially grossed out by the Dan-teacher storyline. I'm going to be seriously disgusted if they actually have a teacher-student relationship. It could be a deal breaker for me. I was already disgusted by the potential Jack-Blair (I know she's 18 but it's still creepy older man syndrome for me). _

_Though it would be hilarious if Dan and this teacher didn't have a relationship and Blair just made it seem like they did to get back at her(different pairing, very vague familiarity to TH, it'd be hilarious to see something like that on screen. It'd be like a strange dream coming true)._

_And kudos to Eric!!! For getting the best line of the week! (I would say get a room...!)_

_Sky Samuelle – I gave a lot of thought to what Georgina would be doing as I was winding down YCFYC (and honestly the fact that you loved her so much helped me to consider it more). That's why it was so strangely quiet when Chuck called her that last time. She was detoxing at her family ranch (and not in the Dominican as she claimed). I might explain her thought processes as an aside at one point (not in this story). We'll see_

_BlackLace922 – I like Dan and Blair for some reasons but I also hate them for others. I think if they really got together the combined self-righteousness/justification would cause a nuclear-like explosion! It's already leaking into this story :) Serena and Blair's friendship is going to be restored I promise._

_MidnightSky – thank you, thank you, thank you_

_No Name (was that you Puresimplicity?) – I have REAL issues reading a Serena-Chuck pairing just because he tried to RAPE her in the premiere! I just can't get over it enough to get past it. That is why I shall never pair the two up._

_Provocative – Like I said above, I do like Dan and Blair for some reasons. I just don't think they're a good fit in the long haul._

_PrincessCheese – again, I shall never pair Chuck and Serena_

_Verybad4u – Chuck and Serena will discuss it briefly when another incident happens. That's all I'm saying for now._

_Annablake – Blair is still struggling with her ED. It's also going to be a theme in GRG. Alcoholism and Eating Disorders...this ought to be a cheery book! I like the idea of both Blair and Chuck having to work through their issues on their own. And yes, Nate was the other set of eyes._

_:D – no Chuck and Serena for me._

_Bluestriker – thanks_

_Bradshaw-esque – You should have seen me when Chuck said he'd move back in. I nearly jumped on the furniture and I definitely screamed. Potentially more Chuck & Eric siblingness! Pretty, pretty please! Did anyone else think that Eric was so much funnier without Jenny?_

_Ashtondene – 33 hours is a good start. If you remember he did have a short attempt at the end of YCFYF (to be sober). He's going to have a lot of bumps and back and forths but they'll be progress on this front (as well as others)._

_Up Next – Getting back to the grind or just grinding? College acceptance letters force a few to truly consider their future and bring drama for Natie! Who's got his back? More importantly, Who's got Blair's? Plus...breakthroughs in therapy rarely come in the waiting room :)_


	9. Chapter Four Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures **

**Chapter Four – Part One**

_January 21, 2009_

_What is forgiveness? By definition forgiveness is an action, the act of freeing from guilt or blame. We are to treat the offender as if the offense had not occurred but how is that possible? Can we truly forgive and forget, paint a new canvas, erase the past? In the face of true betrayal, how do we wish away the pain that colours our judgement or mend tears as easily as three whispered words might suggest?_

_I forgive you. It's a noble ideal but what does it really mean?_

_And where do we begin? I've been told we must start with compassion but what if we are not of a compassionate nature? What if we can not forgive ourselves? If our greatest anger and disgust is centered not on an outward source but within? Anger directed outward can be tempered by friendship or undermined by lust. Anger directed inward can find no alleviation until it burns completely through. _

_I forgive myself. It's the hardest of all._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Blair let her eyes graze across every corner of the courtyard, eyes drifting from designer boots to evergreens, thick emerald branches poking from beneath white winter blankets, frosty breath encircling thousand dollar earrings. She examined every inch, leaving her most determined glance for the end. Her eyes swept the sea of boys until they landed on the one who, despite several weeks of dating Dan Humphrey, still occupied her thoughts.

Blair had been avoiding Chuck for as long, waiting for him to chase her across the halls or drop swarmy comments from above. He did none of these things. Instead, he spent every break perched on his stupid wall. Except it wasn't like years past. He didn't stare across the courtyard, gathering the hard partying crew, throwing obscene comments to any particular target. He reclined against the stone building, feet dangling lazily from the side and black leather journal open in his lap. That's all he did. He just sat there, cigarette in hand, writing furiously. He'd stop to banter with Nate, move over to let Eric or Serena sit beside him, but Chuck barely acknowledged the rest.

He'd come back an entirely different person and Blair hated it! It disturbed her to know that she no longer understood him.

Blair pried her eyes back to her steps. She opened her small tub of low-fat yogurt and jabbed a spoon inside. She stirred the mess of white repeatedly, knocking her heels on the pavement. Beside her Kat and Is were debating the merits of vitamin water and Blair rolled her eyes, jabbing a little harder with her spoon. She missed Serena.

The bell sounded through the courtyard and Blair immediately stood. She tossed her untouched yogurt in the trash bin nearest Chuck's wall. She would have to meet him halfway and that meant grazing just close enough to the stone structure to brush Eric's leg. "Eric!" she greeted the younger boy, saving a single glare for Chuck. "Bass."

Chuck's smirk grew at her ploy and Blair wished she had been more circumspect. "Waldorf," his sharp voice drowned out Eric's softer reply.

Blair tossed a handful of curls, and with slow steps moved to leave. She could hear Chuck jump from the wall, feet crunching on loose gravel. A smug smile crossed her features and she added a slight sway to her hips for his benefit.

"How's the subway ride to Brooklyn?" Chuck called lightly to her retreating frame.

"How are the Asian fantasies?" Blair countered with a look over her shoulder.

"You should check your sources." Chuck stepped closer, "It's an Asian and an African."

Blair curled one lip in disgust. "You're heinous."

"You ought to be flattered." He assured her, smirk pulling one side of his mouth. "It took two women to replace you."

Blair's lip curled more, exposing her perfectly straight teeth. Her eyes formed a matching line. "This conversation is over!" She announced with her back held straight and increased her pace. The accompanying male laughter announced to the world that she'd lost yet again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Rufus paced down the street, darting between the waves of pedestrians walking towards him. The sun had risen enough to kiss the apartment buildings that rose higher with every block. It washed the streets in a yellow glow, reflected blindingly on the lingering piles of snow. Rufus kept walking until he reached the whitewashed building Lily had described. He walked in without keying a number, climbing the three flights of stairs until he reached apartment 352.

He could have met them elsewhere but somehow the privacy afforded here was better.

"Mr. Humphrey," Damien put his hand out and Rufus could see the thrum of excitement play across the young man's features.

"Call me Rufus." He offered with his hand.

"Please," Damien stepped back, "Come in." Rufus stepped into the small space, kicking his shoes off by habit. "I took some of my work from storage." Rufus hummed when he needed to. He didn't need to see the boys work; it was splashed across no less than five different arts magazines and Rufus read them all faithfully.

He wouldn't pass this opportunity by; Lily had known when she proposed it. The publicity surrounding this young man had been unprecedented to start, (far beyond what his small Bedford Avenue Gallery could aspire to), and once Damien dropped his show it had become ravenous. Rufus had had only one question. Would the boy display? Lily had answered it on her third glass of wine, weaved it within the admission that Damien was her son's lover and even though Rufus had already guessed, he was still shocked to hear the truth from Lily's lips.

Damien was shifting through a stack of canvases when Rufus heard the door to the bathroom open. His eyes strayed naturally that way and when he caught the flash of blonde they remained turned. Lily had a hand in her hair, distractedly pulling at a few strands that had blown free from her bun. When she turned to face him her fingers stopped their movement, hanging distractedly in her straight locks. Then she relaxed, a bright and genuine smile transforming her light features.

She was positively stunning but then, to Rufus, she always had been.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Central Park was nearly deserted, the darkening skies and freezing temperatures sending most to their homes. Nate sat in the center of a swirl of smoke, Chuck keeping company to the right. Once the hit was taken and the joint passed over, Nate's face went from relaxed to perplexed. It was becoming his regular state and Chuck understood why. It'd been more than two weeks since Nate had arrived on the Van der Bass doorstep and pledged his desires with daisies.

He and Serena were no closer to arriving at a conclusion.

"We've talked about it three times," Nate explaining, fingers itching for the blunt.

"That's the problem," Chuck decided, losing himself in the high.

"What do you mean?"

"Serena talks herself in circles; if that's the approach you take with her than you'll be looped too."

"What do you suggest?"

"The direct approach," Chuck held the joint close to his lips, smirk forming beneath it.

"I was very clear."

"I wasn't talking about words..." Chuck petered off.

"What should I do?" Nate genuinely didn't understand.

"Find an abandoned closet and do what you two do best."

Nate nearly scoffed but he replaced it with a thought. Perhaps talking about it wasn't the right approach. After all, they'd never discussed it before and yet made so much more progress. "You might just have a point."

"I always do," Chuck assured, handing the blunt back. He leaned back against the park bench and smiled. "Besides...watching the two of you grapple with a conundrum is just painful."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair could feel every last ounce of blood drain from her cheeks, her face, her head even. She blinked repeatedly, shut her eyes harshly and reopened them but the truth was still plain in front of her. It shouldn't have bothered her; she ought to have been happy for him. She wasn't even sure why she wasn't.

"Blair," Dan put a hand to his girlfriend's waist. "What's the matter?" He whispered into her ear.

That cracked through the brunettes haze. "Nothing," she stood straight again, crafted smile finding its way to her face. "Congratulations on heading your class again."

Dan's eyes shifted to the paper she'd been studying. Constance and St. Judes had posted their honour rolls, and Dan's eyes quickly scanned them both. Blair was second in her class again, always trailing Nelly Yuki. That wasn't the source of Blair's distress. It was the other second that held them both in shock. Written directly below Dan's own name was Charles Bartholomew Bass.

_How had he managed that?_ Blair tried to make a joke about it, laugh it off as a typing error but the staff at St. Judes didn't make those kinds of mistakes. It had to be genuine and Blair suddenly understood why Chuck had been avoiding the regular haunts, the parties and his customary crew. It wasn't the only thing. He'd flown across the country the week prior to whispers of multimillion dollar business workings. Blair didn't know the specifics; she'd been disowned from her regular circle and their inside information. She'd been reduced to depending on gossip.

Blair could feel the pieces of her broken heart crack further, shatter into even smaller pieces. Chuck was succeeding, genuinely and truly succeeding in life and she had had no hand in it. He was doing it entirely on his own and somehow that hurt her. All she had ever wanted was to be there for him, to help him find his way, to be his support. Now it was clear. He had never needed her.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena piled books into her locker, and grabbed her uniform gym strip from the hook. She shut her locker door and rested against it a moment. The walls weren't empty but she felt alone. She was alone. There were no girls gathered around, no one to gossip or laugh with. She missed Blair.

They hadn't managed to bridge the crack formed when Blair started dating Dan. To be honest, neither had made a great attempt. They had very differing schedules, Blair primed for university with preparatory courses, Serena skidding to graduation on an easier track. It made it easier for the two to ignore their problems and each other.

Serena pushed off her locker and started towards the large gymnasium. She made it halfway there when someone grabbed her from behind. Serena gave out startled gasp and a momentary struggle. The arms were strong and they pulled both to a nearby utility closet before they let her free. Serena might have been scared but she recognized the pleasing Polo scent and, when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, they again traced the familiar cheekbones. She was about to offer a chastisement when Nate's lips came down on her, stealing away not only the thought but the sentiment behind it. He wound one muscular arm around her waist and could feel the doubts, the uncertainly and the misgivings evaporate under his touch.

There was a familiarity to his movements, the way his knuckles grazed along her side, the urgency of his tongue. It was a memory she should have abhorred but she never would. She wasn't Blair but once upon a time she had fallen for the same slightly greying knight.

At last Nate broke free and she was disgusted to realize that she missed the warmth more than the reprimand that wouldn't form. He stared at her expectantly and that's when she knew for sure. She was going to burn in hell.

Strangely she didn't mind being ablaze. That's why she wrapped her nails around Nate's stripped tie, dragging his lips back to hers.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair couldn't say seated on the edge of her bed. Dan was laid across her comforter, textbook turning colours of green and yellow. He barely looked up as she jumped again, this time to grab more loose leaf from her antique desk. She had given up on studying; now she was reorganizing her dividers, redecorating her schedule, doing anything that would busy her hands.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Dan suggested as Blair made another circle of the room. Blair just stared back at him? Who did he think she was? Holly Hobbit? "Or get some coffee?" Dan tried another route.

"I'm good," Blair sat down again and then popped up. "Did you want Dorota to make you a cup?"

"Blair," Dan put a hand out and stopped the brunette from moving any further. "Sit down," He ordered softly, pulling her to the bed. Blair let him lead her back. "Just tell me what's bothering you."

"I'm fine," Blair countered immediately and tried to stand up again. Dan wouldn't let her. He held her by the hand, other going to cup her cheek.

"You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not lying,' Blair insisted.

"You don't have to pretend with me. I don't care about image and all that stuff."

"Well that's obvious."

Dan wasn't unnerved by her insult; he'd built up his suit of armour to reflect her digs. "I can see your wince every time Gossip Girl blogs about him. I see the way your eyes trail..."

"Like yours?" Blair countered in her own defence, pushing his hand from her face.

Dan took a deep breath because it was one thing to confront someone else, but another to be confronted. "I'm not going to deny it," Dan decided at last.

Blair felt the push to movement stop at his honestly. Even after weeks of dating she wasn't used to such candidness. It was too foreign. She was used to subtle dishonestly and guarded layerings of the truth. _Where did that leave them?_ was the question playing on her lips but she couldn't say something that weak. In the end she didn't need to. Dan answered without the words.

"Why don't we just put things in the open; talk honestly and see what happens."

Blair first instinct was to mock, to poke fun at his after-school-special view of the world where everything could be fixed with truthfulness and a hug. She had to bite her tongue hard to stop the words from instinctually spilling, wade through the insults until she could force out a softly delivered "okay."

Wasn't it what she wanted? To have a stable relationship with a responsible male?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – okay that chapter was pretty short but it's a natural break there. The other half is rather long and I might end up having to break it. Think we can make it to 100 reviews this chapter?_

_Ashtondene - I agree with you entirely. I also feel sorry for Damien but I also recognize that he deserved everything that happened to him. Maybe it'll make him appreciate his second chance that much more._

_Puresimplicity – I adore Austen in general, the only other ff I've written has been centred on her novels. Blair's opinion of Elizabeth is not my own but it's one I have heard many times in my involvement with JASNA. It's meant, as you guessed, to reflect D&B. I'm glad I haven't read the fic you mention, it sounds like it'd be traumatizing for me :) I'd like to believe that Chuck and Blair would resolve their issues prior to getting married._

_BRKOD – YIPPEE! I'm glad you're reading this. I thought maybe I'd scared you off. Lewis will be making a couple more appearances. I had written into the fic originally that Chuck had got her number before he left California but I couldn't make it flow so I ended up making it unsaid._

_Annablake – You also got the reading of the P&P discussion right. It was a coded discussion of BD with D as Elizabeth :) thanks for the wonderful praise :)_

_Sky Samuelle – I'm also a huge fan of P&P :) NS is definitely on now (prepare for the backlash). I still have no internet but I wrote on my hand to save your file to USB so I'll have it ready when next I post._

_Provocative – I hope I fulfilled both of you wishes. There's some major CB involvement by the end of this chapter._

_Bradshaw-esque – well Lily did a pretty shitty job with Chuck after his dad's death too. I'm trying to warm up to LR but I just hate the way they did it on the show. In this fic, Bart is currently away on business but hopefully the CN made up for it._

_Bluestriker - thanks_

_BlackLace – I have a soft spot for them too. I think the act of "falling" for Blair would force Dan to re-examine his own judgements. Kind of like how finding her crying in season one forced him to see her POV. And I think that Dan could hold the key to Blair being a little more open and candid with things. _

_Up Next – College prospects dinner creates more than one scene, one silent and the other gloriously loud. Vanessa and Dan get to be BFFs. What could possibly bring Serena and Blair back together? What other breakthroughs could be made at Dr. Sherman's?_


	10. Chapter Four Part Two

Lily straightened the straps of her top. It was a flowing, floral masterpiece that kept inching down her slender shoulders. She ran a finger along her collarbone in absent-minded concentration. She was standing in front of Rufus' gallery to visit her son. That was it. And if she could convince herself of that as fact then she'd open the door and enter. If she couldn't, well, then there was a comfortable limosine to take her back home.

What was wrong with her? She felt like some stupid teenager fawning over a crush. She was far too old to have butterflies crisscrossing her stomach but maybe that was the nature of first love. It could always reignite that strange glow of firsts, even when one could hardly remember the string of men between. Lily pushed the door open, dismissing her butterflies to their engraved homes. At least she attempted. It was hard to actually do so when the source of their fluttering stepped first into her sight.

Rufus was his usual blend of detached casualness; washed jeans and button down black shirt. Lily could not imagine him in anything else, well, except for maybe that tuxedo he wore at graduation, a mass of black undercut by a shining red undershirt. It was his attempt at formality and Lily hadn't approved. He looked far more natural when she'd divested him... Lily put an abrupt stop to those thoughts but couldn't quite stop the blush that coloured her cheeks. "Checking up on Eric?" Rufus asked with a knowing smile.

Lily nodded at Rufus and then purposely turned her gaze to her son. He was debating the positioning of the central portrait with Damien, each holding strong to opposite corners. Eric was matching the Brit's arguements one for one, holding his own against his accented counterpart. _When had Eric grown so opinionated? _Lily could only stare in wonderat the man her youngest was transforming to. "He's my baby," she admitted, a small layer of sentimentality colouring her words.

"He's a great boy," Rufus spoke honestly, and Lily could only smile. It was true. It was hard to believe that only two years before he had been awkward, mostly silent and on the verge of suicide. He had transformed from that boy into something extraordinary. "You have done an excellent job," Rufus continued the compliments and Lily's smile grew. "Bart too," Rufus added the obligatory afterthought and Lily's smile turned contemplative.

Her first instinct was to deny Bart's influence outright. After all, she'd been given a firsthand view of Bart's treatment of his own son. She was more inclined to lay some praise at the son's door. Chuck had tempered her son's tendency towards introversion. That was just one side though and Lily couldn't deny Bart outright. After all, Lily had been married several times and this way the only stepfather that Eric had taken any liking to. That must speak for something.

Rufus shifted awkwardly beside him and Lily offered up the neccessary thanks. "And how is life as Mrs. Bass?" Rufus asked.

Lily tore her eyes from her son to stare at her former lover. The words were on her lips, the neccessary niceties but staring into those brown eyes, she couldn't quite bring herself to say them. So she tried to answer his question directly, but she could hardly put it to words. "Bart is very attentive," she decided, "affectionate and loyal."

"These are good things."

"They are," Lily agreed. "It almost makes up for the fact that he doesn't love and probably never will." Rufus sucked a breath at Lily's frankness. "But it's okay because I don't love him so we make a perfect matching pair."

Rufus just stood silent because how could one reply to such disclosure.

Lily let the truth hang a moment between them and then dismissed it with a disinterested shrug, quietly adjusting her strap from where it fell. "How about you?" She asked under layers of feigned politeness.

"I'm still waiting," Rufus admitted "for the right person." He didn't elaborate but, when her strap fell again and Rufus adjusted it without asking, he didn't need to. When they faced one another, two small but meaningful smiles meeting in the middle, words weren't necessary.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck tossed his key card and cell on the entrance table, kicking his indoor shoes off as he walked. He could hear a television in the other room and listened for a moment to gauge the programming. In great contrast to the term prior, Chuck was trying to avoid all mention of his academic achievement. He had failed in his own goal, and he couldn't be congratulated without remembering that. Chuck had a single-minded personality type, an almost frightening ability to erase everything else in life when he set his mind to a goal.

When he watched Blair walk hand in hand with her middle class prince it burned. The problem was Dan had everything Chuck wanted for Blair. Dan, for all his priggish moralizing, was a boy who followed those same values. That's why Chuck couldn't interfere, no matter how much it hurt to watch them; he couldn't take from Blair what he couldn't provide.

But Chuck was still Chuck and he couldn't help but want to dent the boy's perfect armour by corroding Dan's perfect record. Chuck always understood he was intelligent. He'd started reading at three years old as Bart so often pointed out. Chuck figured he was striving for his father's attention even as a toddler. He'd sailed through school with an acceptable B average and no desire or drive to do better. Why would he bother? He was going to inherit a kingdom whether he graduated at the top or bottom of his class. School was dull and it was easier to outsource. He never had a reason to care.

Now he did.

Chuck dumped his books on a side table, barely making it two steps into the living room when a pillow sailed at his head. He sidestepped it; he'd grown used to Serena's greetings. He stepped to the sidetable and poured himself a glass of scotch, measuring by eye the amount. He'd given up the idea of sobriety. He couldn't quite handle the shaking hands and permanent state of naseau (at least that's what he told himself). Instead he'd traded it for just enough consumption to prevent the less desirable effects of withdrawl.

It was progress.

"I knew those girls were too smart to be prostitutes!"

Chuck didn't acknowledge her realization; the only hint of the truth was the contented smirk that crossed his features. "Not all whores are as dumb as you," He played without any malice. "Though they're not usually graduate students."

"Seven hours on a Saturday," Serena rolled her eyes. "I should have known even the Great _Chuck Bass_ couldn't last that long."

Chuck scoffed in what could have been wounded pride. He sat beside his sister, free hand dangled intimately behind her. "Would you like to test that theory?" He asked with a knowing smirk.

"Ew," Serena shuddered. "No!"

"You sure?" Chuck tried again.

"You must be desperate to get some," Serena countered. "Spending every available minute studying!"

"Now, now," Chuck shrugged his shoulders. "Don't put yourself down like that."

Serena glared back at him, hitting him with another pillow before continuing. "And that weekend long keger at NYU? I knew you were lying about acquiring a taste for beer!"

"Well," Chuck's smirk grew wider and he took a sip of his scotch for her benefit. 'You should have guessed that one immediately."

"So," Serena sat perched on the edge of the white couch. Now that her simple mind had garnered some truth she wasn't going to give up until she knew it all.

"There might have been a weekend writing workshop," Chuck admitted.

"You're kidding me," Serena's jaw slacked a little more.

"And I may have had a former English teacher proofread my summative essays." Chuck mentally ticked off the myriad of ways he'd targeted his problem. "While I was on the West Coast."

"I think I'm going to mail a snow parka to the devil," Serena decided, sitting back in shocked contemplation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair lay back against the shower stall, shaded glass cradling her head, eyes closed to the undimmed florescent, mind doing nothing but tracking her heart beat. It wasn't steady; it kept jumping a little every third or forth beat. It was a ticking reminder of what she was doing, the game she was playing with her own health. She knew the side effects; her compulsive nature had caused her to study every available pamphlet. She knew exactly what she was doing to herself but that same compulsive nature wouldn't let her stop.

Being with Dan was supposed to make these thoughts go away. He was steady, regular, and reliable and Blair was supposed to tranform to that by being with him. After all, Dan had changed Serena: for a time transforming her flightiness to calmness. Blair needed to believe that Serena was more out of control, more unmanageable than Blair ever would be. So why didn't Dan fix her? Why was she hurling into the porcelain bowl every day? Why did she feel like she was slowly dying inside? For a split-second Blair, as her heart skipped again, Blair considered telling Dan her secret. Maybe he could help her. Then her heart began again and sanity returned. _Who was she kidding?_ Dan would probably hold her hair back.

Her heart resumed a steady patter and Blair struck her head against the shower once, just to make sure she was still there and indeed, still alive. They'd be wondering where she was by now; the perfect, loving Humphrey unit. She and Dan had dined there even though it was Valentines Day. Where had the weeks gone? It was such a steady progression of nothingness. Blair didn't care; she wasn't in the mood for chocolate and candlelight. She never was in the mood with Daniel. And her boyfriend? He wasn't in the mood for anything but sulking, having been handed a waitlist position rather than acceptance at Dartmouth. So he stayed home where his father milled around him, his ideally slender sister offered her condolences. And Blair? She had made early acceptance to Yale; her mother commented on it in passing.

That's the kind of home that Blair grew up in and this was the kind of home Dan still lived in. Blair didn't fit in here and, unlike Serena, she didn't have the desire to play at being normal. So she puked up every last bite of their homemade spaghetti, lovingly buttered garlic toast and jaggedly sliced fruit salad. She couldn't make herself fit and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She had tried for years to cajole herself with fairytale happily ever afters but she was slowly realizing that she didn't want some carefully wrapped package.

Those kinds of stories were for the Serena Van der Woodsens of the world. They could be calmed by a sensitive prince, lulled into happiness by simplified pleasure. Blair required something more. She just wasn't sure what. And for a girl who had planned her future to exhaustion the realization was terrifying.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena could barely feel the dresser pressed against her back, her attention was directly entirely to the man beside her, to his fingers which were inching down her side. She gave a gasp as their lips broke free, eyes hazy from lust. His shirt was on the floor before she heard the noise. It carried from the other room and at first she dismissed it as a servant. A moment later, as Nate's fingers inched from her side to lift her against her, she couldn't so easily dismiss it. She pushed herself from the dresser and straight into Nate's arms. He moaned appreciatively but she put a mannicured hand to his mouth. "Shhh," Serena ordered but the blonde didn't listen. Instead he opened his mouth further, planting wet kissed from her pinky to the wrist. Serena pulled her hand away and stared disapprovingly at him. "I think someone is here."

"So," Nate moved his lips from her palm to the base of her throat, bangs mingling with blonde curls.

"So, no one knows about us and I'd like to keep it that way."

"What are you so worried about?"

"Serena, Eric, Charles," The booming voice came from the hallway and Nate reached for his shirt on instinct. Even he didn't want to start discovery with Bart Bass. He buttoned it quickly while Serena ran her fingers through her mane, untangling the knots that had formed. They stepped together into the hall just before Bart headed that way.

"Serena," Bart greeted his stepdaughter. "Hello Nathenial. Nice to see you."

"Good afternoon Mr. Bass."

"Where is Charles?" Bart asked, looking beyond the tall blondes for Nate's usual playmate.

"I'm here," Chuck called from the living area. "Sorry I was late," Chuck smirked at his best friend. "I trust Serena managed to occupy you."

Bart turned to his son and therefore missed the wide blush that coloured both lovers' cheeks.

"Welcome back," Chuck intoned. "How are you father?"

"I'm in need of rest; dealing with the Chinese government is an exercise unto itself."

"I trust you arrived at a resolution."

"Hardly," Bart admitted. He'd been gone three weeks of the last four and had very little to show for it. "I have to return again in three days for, hopefully, the last round of negotiations."

Chuck raised a brow at that. "So soon?"

"Why did I expand into China?"

"Cheap labour and a huge market." Chuck reminded his father with a knowing smirk.

"Bart," The last of the Van der Bass children stuck their head through the door. "I thought I heard you."

"Eric," Bart walked past the rest and clasped a hand to the youngest boy. "I've been meaning to talk with you," Bart directed the child from the hall. "I trust everything was resolved to your satisfaction."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair grabbed her gym shoes from the base of her locker, wavering slightly as she stood tall again. She gave her head a slight shake but it didn't correct the vertigo. She tried to focus on the inside of her locker door but the perfectly scripted schedule wavered from left to right, the artistic pink and red turning slowly to a muted black.

She shut her eyes harshly and tried to turn with the next wave. She stumbled slightly to the right, red stilletoes snapping into the wall in an attempt to stay upright. Before she dared reopen her eyes a warm hand was on her arm, gripping her firmly and directing her through a nearby door.

"Sit down," the familiar voice commanded and Blair acquiesced. She didn't have it in her to fight. She could hear Serena lock the private bathroom and only then did she relax into the carved bench. Blair took several deep breaths, waiting for the vertigo and accompanying nausea to pass. Only when she was in control of her senses did she dare to open her eyes and face Serena's judgement. She unwound her nails from where they dug into the wooden seat, fingers paining slightly as she did. Her eyes opened slowly, darkening even as they refocused.

"Are you alright?" Serena asked.

"Fine. It's too hot in the building," She lied without flinching.

Serena's concern turned to frustration. "Don't lie to me."

Blair didn't bother to respond, firmly set chin declaring the conversation over.

"I should have let you pass out."

"Why didn't you," Blair clipped right back.

"You know why! Serena wrapped a fist in her skirt. "You promised me you were going to get help."

"And you promised me that you'd be there for me," Blair reminded her, shaky hands turning to shaking lips. "But you just ran away again."

Serena took a deep breath. She'd made a lot of promises to her best friend, a lot of false starts. She didn't want this to be another so she waved away the heartwarming response. She started with the truth. "Why Dan?" Serena said softly.

"Because he offered to be there for me," Blair admitted in a soft voice. "And he truly meant it!"

Serena stared at the bathroom mirror and contemplated the simple truth. Blair had as much as admitted that she had driven the brunette into her former boyfriend's arms. She should have guessed it. Blair didn't work through her emotions, she simply found another distraction. "I did too," she said softly.

"But Serena Van der Woodsen's words aren't worth the same," Blair said, pulling her skirt to cover her bony legs.

"Maybe they're not," Serena admitted. "But you already know what the right thing to do is!" She stared down at her brunette friend, used her larger size to intimidate even though there was nothing intimidating about her. Still Blair held her head high, her chin jutted. Serena could feel her resolve slip and knew she had to leave before she weakened entirely. "Follow your own counsel," Serena said. "You know I'm right."

She left it there. Serena had been watching her former best friend for weeks, had noted every minor stumble, watched as Blair stood two moments too long after standing. She was concerned but short of confessing to Eleanor, Serena couldn't do anything more. Serena would take that step if needed, but she had faith in Blair. Blair would do what was needed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair wore a knee-length navy skirt, cut tight to her thin legs; above it was a matching jacket, cut with the same exacting precision. The presentation was strict, pulled together and she acted the part to perfection. Her face was deliberately neutral, curls pinned high to accent her slender neck. She'd never admit how her insides were quaking, or how she'd waited until she knew Chuck was absent to make this long overdue call.

Blair closed her hand to a fist above the Van der Bass door. She took a deep breath and chased away any residual unease. She shook her head and refocussed, fist pounding the door with confidence.

She always moved with confidence, and when she slipped from her coat, offering it to a servant's eager arms she kept that aas her mantra. She passed the familiar entranceway, stopping only when she reached the family room. Blair might have feigned confidence but she appreciated Serena's response all the same. The blonde shot from her seat and for a moment Blair thought she'd be enveloped in a hug. Serena stopped herself but Blair gleaned enough from the almost action to breath a sigh of relief.

"Blair," Serena couldn't hold her tongue as easily. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to tell you," Blair looked at her momentarily abreviated best friend and couldn't help but smile. "I did what you asked me to." She was supposed to have played it cool, to have said in nonchalanty but she didn't feel nonchalant. She was relieved. Blair had been so wholehearted in casting Dan as her saviour that she'd forgotten the essential truth. No one needs to save Blair Waldorf; she'd perfectly capable of saving herself.

Sometimes she just needs a blonde blombshell to nudge her in the right direction.

"So when are you going?"

"Next Friday."

"Blair," Serena wasn't as convinced by an appointment so far in the future.

"I'm busy until then," Blair admitted and because she did not drop her eyes Serena knew it was the truth.

"I'm proud of you," Serena decided.

"Well," Blair dismissed the praise. She snapped her tightly coiled curls and rolled her eyes as if it were the most natural decision in the world. "Anyway," She readjusted her blazer and moved to turn. "Thank you," She said it softly.

Blair only made it three steps towards the door when the blonde cleared her throat. "You don't have to leave," Serena offered and because her back was turned, and because Serena couldn't see it, Blair gave a fully relieved smile. "We have a lot to catch up on."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was four days later when Serena hammered on the door to Chuck's suite and even though she could hear Chuck move within, no one answered the door. Serena bit her nail and contemplated, it was never advisable to enter Chuck's domain unanounced. But she had announced herself. She decided on a loud yell. "Open the door Chuck, I can hear you."

After a deliberately leisurely pause, Serena heard the handle click to the right. The door creaked open and she caught sight of her stepbrother, unshaven and still dressed in his school clothes. "What are you doing?" Serena screeched. "We're supposed to leave in half an hour."

"I was hoping Lily would forget me," Chuck said.

"Open the door," Serena asked and when he didn't acquiese, she put a hand out and shoved it forward for him. "You'd better get ready."

"I am ready..." Chuck said with a sleepy smirk. Serena eyed his rumpled clothing with a disbelieving glint. "For bed," Chuck finished the thought and Serena understood.

"You have to go," Serena reminded her brother. "Attendance is mandatory for the senior class."

"Apparently not 100%." Chuck countered, but his arm dropped and he walked back into the room. "Do you know how early I had to leave Seattle to get to school by 8am this morning? I'm tired."

"Said by the boy who used to bar hop until 7am and then hit first period gym."

"There's a toliet in the locker with my name engraved on it," Chuck recollected with certain wistfulness.

"Can you believe that in less than five months it'll all be over?" Serena asked as Chuck threw himself onto the sofa. Serena grabbed a pillow and sat across from him.

"It isn't soon enough," Chuck smirked with feigned indifference. That's when Serena knew he'd truly miss it too.

"Get dressed," Serena stood back up. "You won't want to miss tonight."

"Yes I would," Chuck ordered back and put his head back. "Why would I want to drink champagne and rattle on about my college prospects? Ruin an evening listening to adolescent scholars rambling off their universities of choice as if it were an encyclopedia of the Ivy League."

"Still haven't applied anywhere?" Serena cut through his bull.

"My dad mailed a few off," Chuck rolled over. "I've been avoiding the mail,' Chuck finished with a wave at the seven or eight letters cluttering his desk.

"You haven't even looked?"

"So I can be rejected in triplicate? My peniary record is longer than even the brightest students' awards."

"So?" Serena walked to the table and started flipping through the envelopes. She raised her brows at Bart's choices: West Point, Brown, Stanford and Yale. Her stepfather ought to have set his sights a little lower. Perhaps a local university would be tempted; after all, Chuck _was_ very intelligent.

"See what I mean," Chuck raised his own brow.

Serena didn't even reply. She ripped the first envelope and read the half paragraph rejection. It didn't break her spirit but the next five repetitions did. She scanned through the elaborate logos and formal signatures until she reached the last envelope. Maybe she could convince Chuck to apply to NYU, or else convince Bart to spend a few million on academic improvements.

"See what I mean," Chuck sprawled and reached for the bottle of scotch on instinct.

Serena rolled her eyes as she scanned the last paper. She wanted to play it off with a sarcastic comeback but, truth be told, Chuck had a point. "You should still come this evening, even if...." Serena's words stopped abruptly as the text finally materialized in her mind. She read it three more times just to be sure.

"What is it?" Chuck asked. "Did they include a checklist of reasons for rejection with every box checked?"

For a moment Serena's breath went very shallow. Her heart was running fast and when she checked the school name again her eyes threatened to tear over. There must have been something wrong with her. She hadn't had half the interest in her own acceptance letter.

"Just tell me," Chuck mocked from behind his tumbler. "You have been rejected because you have slept with five of the daughters of the dean of admissions..."

Serena didn't know how to word it, so she just read it as written.

_Dear Charles,_

_We are pleased to offer you a conditional acceptance into the Bachelor of Arts program at Yale University. _

"Bullshit," Chuck snarled from behind his glass. This was not the sort of joke he would tolerate.

"This is a personal letter," Serena said in shock. "From the Dean himself."

"Whatever."

_Seldom have I been so impressed by the quality of an admissions document. We had the opportunity to forward your enclosed business plan to the head of the Yale School of Business and his accolades match mine. I hope that you aspire to our graduate program as your letter hinted. You will surely do Bass Industries proud._

"Bullshit," Chuck snarled a little louder and pounded his glass on the table. He walked over to where his sister was standing and grabbed the letter from her. It wasn't until it was in his hands, until he could read the words for himself that he truly believed it. "Why would Yale offer _me_ any kind of acceptance? They must have made a mistake."

"I don't think so," Serena said as she flipped through the remaining pages. "There are four pages of conditions to your acceptance."

Chuck tried to formulate a reply, but he was still trying to grasp the idea of a school wanting _him, _nevermind_ Yale _wanting him_._

"The first is that the student must not be arrested before admission in the fall," Serena couldn't help but smirk.

_That was more like it._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan watched the swirl of the elite from behind a glass of champagne. He never drank, but he needed something to occupy his hands and, through that, his mind. His date, Vanessa, had run off to talk to someone or other; though who she knew in this crowd (and still wanted to talk to) was a mystery. Dan had invited his best friend because Blair was in Montreal and Dan didn't have the fortitude to appear alone. Not when he'd yet to gain an acceptance. He'd been top of his class for years and it hadn't got him what he wanted. He wanted to go to Dartmouth. It was their writing program that flowed so easily with his future dreams. He had worked so hard to get there, had surpassed even his own expectations but what did it gain him? He'd been waitlisted. How many schools could possibly better St. Judes? What was the depth of private education if a school like Dartmouth could skip over all the students of such a prominent school? Dan took another sip of his champagne, self-disgust overwhelming the foul taste on his tongue.

How long did he have to stay at this stupid assembly? The swirls of red and blue were making him naseous. He just wanted to get the hell out before he heard another teacher or peer assure him that he'd make it. Dan scanned the room for his father but the room was devoid of his dark hair. Maybe he could convince Rufus to leave shortly. Dan crisscrossed through the throng of people, searching for the pinstripe grey in a sea of black.

He nearly ran into Nathaniel as he swerved to the right. He didn't feel obliged to apologize and judging by how quickly the blonde looked away, Nate understood why. Once upon a time they had been friends. They'd spent the first half of senior year almost close, but then the betrayals had started. Nate had cheated on Vanessa and the brunette would always be Dan's better friend. The fact that the cheatee was Serena only added to the insult, and even though Dan had long since settled with Blair, it still stung. Still, that all could be dismissed as romantic politics, and while they may have inspired disgust it might not have created full out rage.

"Daniel," Nate's blonder mother put out her hand and Dan realized he'd missed his opportunity to escape.

"Mrs. Archibald," Dan lowered his head. He tried to sidestep but the older woman put a hand out to halt his progress.

"I heard you'll be attending school with Nathaniel this fall."

"Pardon me?" Dan asked.

"At Dartmouth," The blonde smiled wider but Dan didn't see it. "It's wonderful to know he'll have a friend there."

_Friend?_ Someone needed to give his mother a dictionary of current events. "Nate isn't going to Dartmouth," Dan tried to burst her little, socialite bubble.

"Of course he is," Mrs. Archibald countered. "He was accepted last month."

"Accepted?" Dan stopped looking for an escape and started staring right at his former friend. "You got early admission to Dartmouth."

Nate didn't need to answer. It was obvious by the way he moved back; let his head hang until the bangs covered his blue eyes. "I did."

The hairs on the back of Dan's neck stood to attention. He knew it. He knew that Dartmouth would make one offer but to Nathaniel Archibald? Did the boy even have any braincells left? This was unjust. How could Nate steal Dan's dream away? A dream the blonde didn't even want and surely didn't deserve. What had he done to deserve it? Did being born an Archibald undermine years of hard work, determination, true intellect? It was unfair. It was unmerited. It was unreasonable. It was every theme of affluence versus integrity, power versus talent that had littered his writing since he started at St. Judes. "It was you?" Dan shoved the blonde to face him.

"Please," Nate nodded to the people watching. "It's nothing. I'm sure you'll get in. Your grades are perfect."

"I deserved that position," Dan's voice was slowly climbing, reverberating off the rafters and drawing every eye near.

"I know you did," Nate whispered in a placating tone. "It's just; things don't always work out that way."

"Of course not," Dan spat between angry gasps. "My dad can't buy the school a new library or pool."

"Please Dan," Nate's head dropped a little, guilty eyes hiding again beneath his long bangs. "You're causing a scene."

"You think I care?" Dan shot right back, even as Vanessa reached his side. She put a hand to his and tried to whisper comforting words to his ear. He ignored them. "You think it matters what hoity toity rich people think of me?"

"Dan," Vanessa tried to break between them, pushing back with only one hand to her friend. "You need to calm down."

Dan just pushed her aside. "And the sad thing is that you don't even want it. You told me a hundred times." Nate was stuck and Dan could see it. Couldn't the blonde see how unfair it was? To take away someone's dream for something they didn't even want? "Tell me you want it," He ordered, waiting for the blonde to lie.

"Of course he does," Mr. Archibald answered for the indecisive blonde as he reached the growing party. He pushed them apart with ease, using his stocky size in a way Vanessa couldn't. "Dartmouth is a family tradition. He wouldn't turn away from the school that educated his grandfather, even his great, great grandfather."

Dan was about to make a snide remark but he didn't need to. Vanessa pushed him aside to make her own. "You know he doesn't want it," Vanessa spat at the Captain. "But you just can't let go can you." Dan was stunned by her candidness and before he could recover his anger, Vanessa had slipped a hand through his and dragged him away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"And where are you going this fall?" Some matronly grandmother asked Chuck. She had gone far from the throng of revellers to seek him out. The central floor was filled to capacity, the scene he'd penned for Serena earlier playing out to the line. Chuck had kept to the corners, parked himself by the floor to ceiling windows and contemplated.

"Did you forget who you're talking to?" Chuck smirked maliciously and the elder woman scurried off.

"Chuck," He could hear his sister's reprimand from behind and Chuck took a deeper sip of his _virgin_ ceasar. He nearly spit it back into the glass, he prefered virgins in his bed, not in his glass. "That was Is' grandmother."

"And this matters because?" Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you tell people about Yale?"

"Let me enlighten you. I wrote no essay and no business proposal. Yale didn't admit me," He swore over the rim of his glass. "They admitted Bart Bass."

"What?" Serena couldn't help but giggle. "Does Chuck Bass actually feel guilty about cheating?"

"It's the principal," Chuck tried to avert outright denial.

"Said by the boy who cheated his way through junior high."

"I think I'll go find Lily," Chuck glared at his sister. "Maybe she'll let me leave early."

Serena said something but Chuck had long since stopped listening. He put the vile tomato concotion on a side table and circled around the large crowd. He searched for a blonde head, eyeing the crowds of socialites for their circle of friends or, baring this, simply the largest crowd. Lily Bass always drew people to her; she had a perfect blend of beauty and charm. In her youth she must have been very much like Serena.

"Nathaniel," Chuck called to his best friend. The taller boy spun, a few too many cocktails erasing the boy's earlier shock. Chuck had watched the scene, he always saw everything. He would have intervened but it would have interferred with his pleasure in seeing Dan put down. "Have you seen Lily?"

"I think I saw her head towards the back," Nate waved at the smaller rooms near the back.

Chuck contemplated waiting there while Lily checked her makeup or whatever women did in their frequent trips to the powder rooms, but then another grey haired grandfather set him in his sights and Chuck's feet moved despite the intent. Chuck pushed through the throng until the crowd thinned and the flooring changed to tile. There were two large bathrooms in the back, but many smaller powder rooms. It was entirely impractical but then, most things in his world were.

Chuck walked into the back hallway and leaned against the tile mosaic. He shifted from foot to foot and considered calling Lily's phone. He watched as the girls giggled back and forth in groups of three, rolling his eyes. His bad mood might have outstripped even Dan Humphrey's. He was fucking tired. So he pushed his head back and closed his eyes. He noticed it then, the soft rythmic intonations that belonged to his stepmother. She was in the room right behind him. Chuck reopened his eyes and pulled at the metallic handle. It gave beneath his fingers and the door swung open.

Once Chuck stepped through he wished it hadn't. Lily should have thought to lock it if she was planning a rendevous. The snarky greeting Chuck planned died somewhere between his shock and disgust. Lily Bass was standing at the far end of the expansive private room, Dan's father wrapped scandalously around her. They were...well...he had his tongue...and they were... Chuck could feel the waves of disgust ravage his stomach. They were kissing.

His father's wife was...well she was. The disgust turned to straight out naseau by the time Rufus and Lily caught sight of him. They jumped apart immediately, appropriate guilt crossing their features.

Chuck slipped straight from the room, shock thrumming softly through his veins, mingling with erupting rage. He moved quickly away before the image could imprint to fully on his memory, his hands shaking and his face uncontrollably open. He pushed through the crowd of bodies, raising a numb hand to grab a glass of champagne off a weaving tray. He searched the room for his escape, plotting a path to the patio doors even as "Charles," rang in his ear.

He had the glass to lips before his stepmother could reach him, stiletto heels cracking across the floor with the effort. She touched him on the arm, called his name again but all Chuck could sense was the revulsion playing through. He gave his arm a quick pull but she would not let him go, digging her manicured nails into the length of his wool coat.

She should have just let him go. Chuck spun, rage winning battle against shock and turning his eyes to ashen grey. He glared at her hand which was pressed so tightly to the crook of his arm. He wrenched himself back, flattening his suit even as he broke free, playing at control as he touched his bowtie.

"Charles," Lily tried again but Chuck didn't even acknowledge her. He stood a foot from her but she didn't exist. She tried to touch him again and that's when he turned his eyes back. He leaned close again, so close that Lily was the one to retreat. "Don't touch me whore," He whispered over the small divide. He said it quietly, personally because he'd be damned if the entire senior class knew his father was being cuckolded.

Besides, he didn't need to make a scene. His eyes dripped hatred in every passing second. That said enough.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Thanks for the amazing reviews last chapter (17 reviews on one chapter, I was in SHOCK!). I'm sorry this took a bit longer but I had some drama in RL last week. At least it's long. And the spell check has died on my computer for some reason so there's probably lots of spelling/typing errors. Forgive me :)_

_Ashtondene – There's no CE (or even E) these last couple chapters but there's a scene coming next chapter._

_Se1ge – Don't worry about making some criticisms. I have no problems with it when it's so nicely communicated as yours. I'll only offer one justification to Chuck getting ahead in school. There are tons of canon deviations in my tales but I would say the biggest one is that I made Chuck much smarter. I've kind of hinted at it through the last couple books. In TH we learn that Chuck is not a D or F student like he probably is in the show but a B student. He paid students to write his essays but he always did the exams himself. Then in YCFYF I also pointed out that Chuck played a bit at doing nothing but he did infact always do his own math work just never admitted to it. It's still a stretch but I want to believe that Chuck is smart enough to be Blair's intellectual equal. As for Dan, I've always thought that he'd book smart and works really hard. I don't know if he'd naturally intelligent (it doesn't come off that way to me). I would say that Chuck is smarter but Dan has all the tools (work ethic, determination) that Chuck lacks. Therefore Dan will aways be more successful._

_:D – thanks_

_Bradshaw-esque – I'm also not a true R/L fan so you'll find a lot of that takes place behind the scenes just because I can't bring myself to romanticize infidelity. _

_Sky Samuelle – that would have been fun to write but I decided to keep Dan with Dartmouth. Why? Because that whole Dan changing to Yale was so random and also because Chuck wouldn't have a chance to better Dan at that point (near the end of senior year)_

_Puresimplicity – more CB in the rest of this chapter. BD is just kind of boring to me. I'm trying to make them interesting but neither are truly interested in the other._

_Candycorn – Thanks :)_

_Doxeh – I'm kind of annoyed at how much of an f up they made Chuck int he show. It seems like they killed off Bart for no meaningful character growth at all. It's really sad actually. They should have kept Bart alive!_

_Annablake – Eric's statement works for him, for Blair's POV and also Chuck's. BD is definately missing that essential physical spark._

_Provocative – thanks_

_Blacklace – BS have made some major progress this chapter. I missed them being friends._

_GrantingTroyTurner – I doubt Nate will ever love someone deeply. He'd a bit like a kid in a candystory. He'd a lover with ADHD._

_Abbytabitha – thanks ;)_

_BRKOD – Thankfully the romantic bits of RL take place behind the scenes. _

_Bluestriker – thanks _

_Modernmyth – I'm going to spend a lot of words on Chuck's alcoholicm. I'm actually looking forward to writing it (there must be something wrong with me)._

_BCEBTRBLSB trory 12 – I do like Dan myself_

_Up Next – still waiting on that waiting room scene, C and E have a chat_


	11. Chapter Four Part Three

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Four - Part Three**

Chuck wavered in front of the Van der Bass suite. He didn't even know why he was there. He ought to have crawled upstairs to pass out but maybe; just maybe, he wanted to relish in his family home while it still stood. That thought nauseated him more than the putrid combination of scotch and egg. He's rediscovered the scotch after he slunk silently from the chandeliers and congratulations. The eggs were the kitchen's solution to Chuck's little problem. As if all his little problems could be solved with black mushrooms and parmesan cheese.

Chuck eyed the door and something inside him calmed. It wasn't a comforting calm, just a familiar blend of anger and disappointment that lulled him by long acquaintance. When had he revisited the family dream? When had he traded his cynicism for two blonde siblings and their charming mother? He should have known better, he had known better! It was Lily _Van der Woodsen_. The only constant man in her life was the divorce lawyer.

Chuck flashed his card and meandered inside. He kicked his shoes across the entrance hall, feet already moving to their respite. He didn't make it far. It might have been three in the morning, but even before he entered the living room, Chuck knew she was there. Lily sat in a darkened corner, eyes barely registering the dark or the magazine propped in her lap. She stood as he entered but he didn't acknowledge her. "Charles," The high toned voice cut the silence and Chuck glanced over, head turning on instinct. He guessed her words before she spoke, watched her thick blonde hair move side to side as she pleaded. He didn't listen to the details; he just stared at her and wondered. The trust he had held for her was hard to fathom.

But he had trusted her and that was the problem. When he looked at her now he could see only his stupidity, his own mistaken faith. She continued to talk but it was a muted ringing in his ear rather than formulated speech. He tried to detour around the sight but he wavered too far to the right and his stepmother was across the room before he could right himself. She tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders but he threw it off. He convinced himself that Lily's _help _was mirrored in her own self-interest. It was better to think that.

Chuck flung himself back onto the sofa lest his stepmother touch him again. He folded his hands to lap and waited with feigned patience.

"Did you tell your father?" Lily finally asked.

"Did you?"

"There is nothing to tell."

Chuck could only scoff.

"I know what you think you saw..."

"Where you giving him a tonsillectomy?"

"I have never done anything like that before," Lily swore and Chuck, for all his disgust, found himself wanting to believe her. "It was very stupid."

"That goes without saying."

"I didn't mean for it to happen. Bart has been so busy and I let myself get wrapt up by something I shouldn't have. I know you probably think I'm horrible but I promise that it will never happen again."

He wanted to believe her, he truly did but it was hard when her eyes flitted and her apology was premised with an excuse. It didn't matter whether he believed her or not. He wasn't going to tell his father. It's why he'd delayed calling him all night, run through his own list of excuses and distractions. He hadn't even realized fully why until that moment. It wasn't about Lily. He had loved her in his own way, she had comforted him in hers but she was expendable. He could dismiss her but in leaving Lily would take away the family he loved.

"Charles, please tell me..."

"Fine," Chuck barked and turned away from her false eyes. "Leave," He barked.

The door clicked behind her before Chuck chanced a look back. He ran a hand through his hair and contemplated what he had agreed to.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric meandered through the midday traffic, rain pounding the ground and bringing the green of a slowly emerging spring. Eric pushed the coffee shop doors open and searched the crowd for a familiar face. His brother sat on the far side, body squeezed into a private booth, hands resting on a large coffee mug. From the way Chuck's fingers were dancing against the ceramic it wasn't his first. He'd obviously overindulged in the former and drank nothing of the other, not that Eric was allowed to keep track. He didn't even dare acknowledge what his brother was attempting. It didn't mean he didn't notice.

To be honest, Eric wondered why everyone else didn't.

Chuck saw him then and Eric watched the transformation. In seeing him, his brother was reminded of the rest of the company and his posture changed to suit it. He didn't sit straighter, he slouched more fully; he didn't call out in greeting or affect any charms that he didn't already possess in abundance. Chuck was never intent on making a good impression, just making one at all.

Eric nodded across the coffee shop, taking a circular route to sit beside Chuck. He ordered a latte from the counter before meeting his brother. The boys exchanged pleasantries as expected even though Chuck's lips still drooped automatically at the mention of Damien and Chuck didn't offer much conversation to counter. Still they pushed through the obligations, sipped through a few awkward pauses before Chuck unveiled the reason for their rendezvous.

"Why has your mother been married four times?" Chuck asked from across the booth. The question was out of place, but then again, Chuck calling him in the middle of the afternoon to '_hang out'_ was even further out of place.

"My mother is really great at getting married," Eric confessed. "It's the being married she has difficulty with." Eric sipped his latte and waited for the subject to drop. When it didn't Eric was compelled not only to speak further but also to ponder the reasons behind the question. Chuck looked controlled, coffee cup held between light fingers, soft incline of his brother's lazy posturing. Eric might have been lulled into thinking his brother indifferent except for the eyes. Chuck's eyes were too intense to be flippant, too full and unflinching to be casual. Eric considered asking Chuck what his mother had done but the younger knew the elder enough not to try. If Chuck had wanted him to know, he'd have told him from the start. "My mother adores the beginnings of love."

Chuck ran a finger along his coffee cup, for a moment his ponderings crossing across his face. He didn't say anything, but the thoughtfulness of his pause made Eric suddenly nervous.

"And?" Chuck asked and this time he didn't feign anything. For a split second everything showed and Eric could feel his face turn to match.

Eric's own stomach jumped in dread, the way it had in the past. It had stayed miraculously still for over a year. They'd had a good run. "But she never stays long enough to love beyond infatuation."

Chuck very noticeably bit the side of his cheek and Eric nearly questioned him. He would have but the blonde knew he wouldn't like the answer. Chuck didn't offer much beyond the coffee, a few bills tossed to the table to cover their tab. "I'm very sorry for you," Were the only words Chuck offered and Eric guessed that pity had to given in self-involved mothers and their flights of fancy.

Except Eric knew that Chuck wasn't just talking about him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair shook the doctor's hand as she moved to leave. It was force of habit mingled with some sincerity. Perhaps Serena had been right. Perhaps she needed this. She walked from the smaller office to the expansive waiting room. A wall length waterfall provided tranquil background noise as Blair waited at the receptionist's desk to book another appointment. It was going to be okay.

"Mr. Bass," The receptionist grabbed a file from her desk before Blair could interrupt her. "The doctor will see you now."

Blair's fingers froze on marble countertop. All her reassurance evaporated. She considered not looking, just walking out without a backward glance but she was too curious not to so she turned slowly until her brown eyes met his. Chuck was seated across the small room, aged magazine splayed across his legs. He met her glance, nor more able to look away than Blair was able to stop staring. His hair had stayed short, was coiffed to stand partially on end, the top collar of his dress shirt opened and disappearing into its ends. His eyes were dark but they lacked his usual intensity. He couldn't hide his shock and Blair was comforted to see her own matched. His eyes were chalked in black and Blair wondered if they'd always looked that way, or if God had outlined them only for that moment.

She considered saying something. He considered saying something but somehow, in their combined insolence, no insults could be crafted. So she turned back to the receptionist, ignored his prescience even though he brushed her as he stepped by and painted the air with a citrus blend.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena and Blair sat on the corner of the courtyard's principal picnic table; their differing lunch offerings splayed out on the thick wooden beams. Serena grabbed a grape from her friend's perfectly coordinated lunch bag and Blair smiled at the return of the familiar. Dan kept away from them both and Blair found she didn't miss the presence. It was impolite to voice it but, in that moment, intellectual discourse paled in comparison to gossip and mayhem.

Blair had missed her friend. She'd often loathed her friend's ability to captivate but she had also longed to be captivated again.

"So is Kat still dating the waiter?" Serena asked between chews.

Blair stirred her yogurt and her smile deepened. "He's the love of her life."

"A waiter?"

"Apparently his parents own the hotel," Blair corrected. "And they force him to work in it. Something about instilling values..."

Blair and Serena's eyes met over the thought neither needed to express. _Thank god their parents weren't so idealistic._

"You missed a good Seniors Social," Serena commented.

"I heard it was entertaining," Blair said noncommittally. Dan had called her that night to discuss things. It'd been brief once he realized Blair wouldn't side with him. Perhaps she should have, but she understood the pressure Nate was under.

"Is Dan alright?" Serena asked in almost a whisper and Blair knew the blonde probably wished it unsaid the moment she'd expressed it.

"He's just being stupid," Blair decided after a spoonful of vanilla. "He's going to get in. It's just a matter of time."

"I can understand why he's mad though," Serena admitted with all the wrong allegiances.

Blair understood it too. She just wasn't interested in putting it to words at the moment.

"So how was your trip to Montreal?"

"Beautiful," Blair decided with a distracted look around the courtyard. She truly had enjoyed it. Cyrus owned an enormous penthouse right in the downtown core, and she had spent days relaxing it in, exploring the francophone urban center and just being free from everything.

"And your appointment with Dr. Sherman?" Serena fished and Blair's eyes instantly centered on the dark figure, perched alone on his personal wall.

"It was enlightening," Blair decided as she watched her former boyfriend write in hasty loops. She'd spent many moments studying him, catching his picture with her memory, watching his actions for some inner clue.

She finally understood the route he was taking. "Chuck was there," She dropped almost casually into the conversation, then turned back to study her best friend's reaction. The shock was evident and Blair realized that Chuck hadn't involved even his surrogate family. It was fitting. Chuck wouldn't confide in anyone.

"He came to pick you up?" Serena tried to put her simple mind to use.

"No. He was there to see the doctor."

Serena didn't say anything and Blair knew she wouldn't. She, Eric, even Nate had taken to circling Chuck like a brood of protective parents. The Unjudging Breakfast Club still existed but not for her: She'd been excluded, been replaced by Eric Van der Woodsen. Blair could have tried to bridge the gap but she was too tired and so she just accepted it as life.

But she couldn't help the tiny flicker of joy as her eyes flittered back across the courtyard, as she realized she'd known something _first_.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Her heart jumped as the light to room 1812 turned green. There was no way it couldn't. Blair remembered what scene she'd stumbled into during her last foray into Chuck's domain. She walked softly against the thick carpeting, afraid of waking the night or herself, that the soft clicks of her stilettos might bring clarity back to her thoughts. She could feel the thick wool of her jacket brush against her bare skin and she flushed without even meaning to, smelt the blend of scotch and cigarettes and was comforted by it. On one level this choice was clear but on the other it made no sense. All she knew was that she was tired to trying to forget Chuck, tired of trying to create a relationship that met all her ideals and yet was nothing she wanted. Blair took a deep breath, filled her aching lungs and pushed the bedroom door open. The nearly empty bed relieved her fears and allowed her exhalation.

Blair instinctively pulled the coat tighter around her. She stared at her former boyfriend and willed him to wake up. She considered knelling beside his bed, whispering seductions until he stirred. She wasn't sure she could. And she didn't need to. Almost as if he could feel her Chuck started to stir; maybe he could feel her. Blair could sense him in every setting, wouldn't it be fitting for the sensation to likewise plague him. He stared up at her, shock turning his eyes momentarily to saucers. She waited for him to speak then took pleasure in the fact that _she_ had rendered him speechless. "Sit up," she delighted in how the command rolled off her lips.

Chuck did as instructed and the struggle it required stole away her delight and replaced it with rippling trepidation at the base of her spine. She could see the confusion play out across his features and when the question came she wasn't surprised. "Is there an emergency?" He asked the question that underlay another. _Why was she here? Why had she snuck into her after months of separation?_

"That's not what this is about," Blair said, eyes sparkling even as her cheeks flushed again. She might have been innocent her entire life but that boy had taught her to play the coquette. She let the jacket fall from her shoulders; let the dim lights sparkle her exposed skin with glittering stars. Chuck stared at her, part in awe and the other in muted terror. Blair was comforted to see her own emotions play across his face.

"My angel has returned." The words slurred one through the next, his eyes barely staying open to study her reaction. Blair felt the left side of her lips curl on instinct, disgust at his heavily inebriated state playing against her own disgust on loving someone this weak. It was logical. She was weak too. They both had their methods of self-destruction. Neither was needed as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed, as he touched her hand, and pulled her back the last few feet to him. She was vividly aware of his every movement, the way his breath expanded his chest, how one hand wrapped hers, while the other hand stumbled for balance. She let him drag her body to his, let his warmth wrapt her coldness, let him kiss her before her mind was made up. His tongue was coated in scotch and she tried to pretend that's what was intoxicating her. "I knew you couldn't resist me." He whispered as their lips broke.

He didn't realize just how true that was.

Or how he'd been the one to resist her.

Chuck spoke her name in a constant litany, scotch-lined lips whispering it against her shoulder, rasping it into her hair as she finally spread herself over him. She kept her eyes from his, but his whispers slowly tattooed a bond up and down every inch of her skin. His touch was clumsy but Blair chose to ignore it. She let herself be enveloped in the scent of scotch and cigarettes without measuring their potency. She was ignoring a lot, like the sandalwood scent that threaded through his thick brown hair. Then again, if he were sober he might have caught the lingering taste of vomit on her tongue.

She dragged her nails hard against his bare back, broke his skin in her desire to make him focus, to feel everything that she did. He was fading beneath her fingertips and she didn't know if it was escaping the intoxication or her so she dug further, pressed harder to make up his absence. In a final bid she turned his cheek and stared straight into his brown eyes. They were glazed over and she didn't know if he was going to cry to fall into some approaching pit. His eyes disappeared into some obscure haze and then refocused, a constant battle against clarity and indistinctness playing across his chocolate orbs.

She had never known him like this and she's not sure she wanted to. Even at the height of his intoxication, when he had stumbled without her arm he'd been engaging, charms hidden beneath intense eyes and a devilish smirk. Now his eyes wilted beneath hers, a paleness flushing out every single glare she expected. She almost let him go then, but then his lips formed her name again, melting perfectly into their small divide and there was something truer in the way he said it. There was nothing as perfect as that single syllable, pulled from his naturally curving lips. And when he said it again she closed their division, bit at his shoulder, tried to give away some of the pain and torment he had laid with her.

Within ten minutes he was still beside her, chest moving slowly up and down and face buried deep into the mattress. She laid her nude body beside him; let her fingertips trace the dips and valleys of his back. She didn't understand it. She had him to completion but still she couldn't keep her fingers from touching, her eyes from studying. It was entirely irrational.

Blair cleared her throat slowly, let her fingers contract and expand along the muscles of his back. Then in a soft voice, she repeated the words that had twice before been thrown back, not in word but in action. "I love you," She spoke it clearly and waited for a response.

He made none: his shoulders did not shake, or his head turn. His breathing did not even hitch or break. It might have cracked her further but Blair recognized something more fundamental.

Chuck Bass was passed out cold.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So a bunch of you are wondering why the hell Blair did that. She's going to explain her thinking at the start of the next chapter, in the mean while feel free to flame me over it :) I'm sorry that I don't have time at the moment to write all my personal responses to your reviews, but I will PM everyone who commented on the last chapter tonight._

_Up Next - Another closet, another confrontation, some until now avoided publicity, and tents and smores? Something must be wrong with the world._


	12. Chapter Five Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Five – Part One**

_February 22, 2009_

_I truly thought I had cast aside my romantic sensibilities last year. I thought I'd embraced practicality. Apparently I'd embraced stupidity instead. After all, only an ignoramus could still believe in Chuck despite all evidence to the contrary._

_I lay with Chuck for a long time, maybe because watching him slip in and out of consciousness I was worried, but more likely because I knew I was done. When he turned his head to mine I studied that perfect profile and understood what I had wanted. I saw the innocence in his chin, the beauty in his deeply cut cheeks and I knew. That's what I loved. That's what I wanted to bring to life but I could never do that. It was caged deep within and I doubted even Chuck himself knew how to free it. _

_I'd fallen for my own twisted fairytale. Only one as distorted as me could try to make a happily ever after with the villain. I saw his external improvements: the grades and business and twisted my own proof from it. I wanted him to be getting better, I wanting him to be working towards something better. But as his body shivered I saw him again for what he was. He was just as screwed up as he'd always been; he'd just learned to buff the outside to a better sheen._

_I ran my fingers through his mated hair and cried: Probably more for myself than for him. After all, I'm the one who loves him still. He is so beautiful when he sleeps that it's easy to pretend he's that beautiful when awake. He's not. He's full of anger and darkness. Perhaps it's the devil's last game, to paint the most threatening of men with tiny glimmers of innocence. Then it's easy to pretend that they are blameless, a victim of fate and circumstance. It was easy to pretend they're starting their life over when you catch them at the counsellors. _

_I'd penned a full novel out of that one; a story that should have started last night except in my tale he'd whispered not my name but a final, definitive I love you. He's embraced me and we'd finally talked. I should have known better. Chuck likely went to Sherman like a penitent goes to confession: An hour to purge their sins and another week to accumulate them again._

_Now I had my own sins to confess, and my own penance to enact._

_Blair Waldorf_

Nate lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling until his breathing returned to normal and his toes straightened again. Beside him, Serena pulled the sheets around her chest though there was no real reason for the modesty. Nate could feel her breath again him, her ribcage expanding and contracting with every gasp. The mutual high cut through the otherwise silent house.

They were at the Archibald townhouse, beige walls and greenery setting the stage for one of their clandestine meetings. Nate's parents had taken a celebratory trip to the Hampton house. What were they commemorating? A young executive at Harold's firm had been arrested and while rarely an occasion for champagne and canapés, this arrest meant everything to the Archibald family because it removed the last stains of doubt. Harold had been arrested in Nate's junior year, initially for drug charges and then later for embezzlement. The Captain may have sworn his innocence but when he coupled that proclamation with an unplanned trip to the Dominican, even his own son could not believe him. It was proof that drug addicts ought not to make life altering decisions. Eventually the Captain returned, was arrested and then released on insufficient evidence. Such a condition hardly inspired trust.

But that was a year ago. Now Harold had months of sobriety and final vindication in the form of a guilty plea with full disclosure. They were very nearly the family they once were, perhaps a little too much so, Nate would admit between hits of weed. At least with the drama neither parent had the time or energy to focus on him. Now they were free to dwell on the heir's future.

"We need to make things public," Nate said suddenly, not really realizing the reason until after. He needed some topic of conversation that didn't begin and end with Dartmouth. Serena might not be as poised or distinguished as Blair but she had the right pedigree. She would be welcomed more wholeheartedly than Vanessa ever had.

Nate felt Serena's hair brush against his chest and knew she was staring right at him. He waited another moment before meeting her eyes. "Just tell her first," He suggested as he turned, and both pretended that Blair was the reason they'd kept things secret.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The courtyard was engulfed in a wispy fog and Blair pulled her skirt more fully to the knee. She was seated on the steps, Serena keeping company at her side, the rest of her army gathered round. Blair surveyed her domain without satisfaction. Serena rolled a chocolate almond between her fingertips and Blair was taken aback at how thoughtful her friend's expression was.

"You might as well tell me," Blair whispered.

"You might not want to know." Serena countered and Blair's expression turned sharper once she realized she was the topic of her friend's thoughts.

"You're going to tell me sooner or later." Blair rolled her grape, unconsciously matching her friend's movements. "It's inevitable." Serena paused and Blair could see the indecision playing. She needed to get it over with. Blair had guessed that Chuck would confide in his stepsister, she only wondered whether it was in had been in triumph or revulsion.

Serena moved to whisper in her ear and Blair prepared herself, readied herself to have her foolishness put to words. "I'm seeing Nate," Serena admitted and Blair laughed in relief.

"I knew that," Blair rolled her eyes. "Worst secret ever!"

"Really?"

"It was obvious," Blair assured the other girl and breathed a little easier. For whatever reason Chuck hadn't said a thing; maybe he didn't remember. He was pretty gone. Maybe God still had pity for girls like her. She smiled wider and if Serena thought it was in acceptance of her and Nate then all the better.

"I just thought..." Serena whispered.

"That was your first problem." Blair laughed through a slice of strawberry. She was about to offer another snide remark when a set of snakeskin boots entered her peripheral vision, stealing away any amusement she might have felt. Blair bit another slice of strawberry, a larger one before she turned to face him. Chuck was staring down at her, smirk playing at his lips, confident posturing offering Blair nothing but trepidation.

"Well, well Queen B." Chuck stared down at her position on the steps, at the party of minions gathered around. Blair met his gaze and bettered it, her disgust only half feigned. "Taking advantage of half-drunk men. I thought you were better than that."

Blair's glare went darker as the girls gathered around her started to gossip. "In case you've forgotten, my boyfriend doesn't drink."

"But I do," Chuck countered, his self-satisfied smirk growing in proportion to her outrage. "Last night, my suite..."

Blair could hear the gossip intensify and she snapped a glare at her personal army. They stopped abruptly. Only then did she turn back to Chuck, wearing a smirk to match his. "You really need to stop fantasizing about me."

Chuck gave a curt nod and for a moment she thought he would desist. He didn't. He leaned down, face uncomfortably close. He put his lips to her ear and whispered the last for her only. "Fantasies don't leave five inch scars."

Blair could feel the red creep up the side of each porcelain neck but she didn't acknowledge it, or how fast her heart was beating at his proximity. She stayed iron straight until he pulled back, walking away as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Is that true," Serena whispered through her muddied thoughts and Blair snapped back to attention.

"Of course it isn't," She lied as easily as he had told the truth. "Who do you think I am?"

Serena stared her up and down, an unconvinced nod showing that even if she did not believe Blair, Serena would not question her on it again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was walking to Language Arts when she felt Chuck. He hadn't even touched her but she could smell the citrus blend. When had he changed his cologne? And how did she already know it? He pulled her by the wrist, closed the door soundly behind them and locked it with his free hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Blair hissed.

He leaned forward, his forgotten smirk returned to curl his lips as they inched to her. "You."

"Are you nuts?" Blair wrenched her arm back, pressing against the far wall, trying to create some needed distance.

"I might have let you win outside," Chuck's smirk spread wider, cracking over his white teeth. "But we're not out there anymore."

"You think this is some kind of game?"

"Do you want it to be?" Chuck invaded her breathing space and no matter how much she willed it, Blair's breath still hitched at the closeness. "An enjoyable," He touched his hand to her shoulder, felt the skin flush beneath his fingertips, traced a line nearer to her heart before he continued. "Pleasurable," He slipped his hands cross the swell of her breast and down her side until it reached the waistband of her tartan skirt. "Amazing game." He finished as his lips found her neck, laid tiny bites across her skin. Their intent was distraction from the fingers that were slowly pulling at her skirt, inching it upward, exposing her soft legs to the rough drag of her trousers. Blair wanted to be unmoved but under such circumstance, how could she not be? She begged her body to be neutral but it insisted on betraying her, of arching her back when she wanted it to be steady, head burying beneath his chin when she wished her glare to match his. "I want you so much," He admitted as his fingers found the lace of her thong.

And that was the problem. She never doubted that he wanted her; that had never been in question. Neither had she doubted his ability to seduce, to mix words and touch until a girl melted beneath her. She couldn't deny that she was half melted already but she didn't intend to let him carry her through. She wasn't one of his cheap whores and she wasn't about to be treated like one. "I already got what I wanted from you," Blair whispered against his neck. It was delivered as an endearment might be, except for the even tone and the cold ruthlessness of her word choice. Chuck couldn't help but remember Dan's deficiencies and some of his assurance melted away to nothing. "I'm surprised you even remembered it," Blair mocked him. This time she didn't bother to push back, she waited until her words forced him back of his own will.

Chuck wasn't going to admit that he barely did remember, that all remained of the evening was flashes of time, vague recollections of touch and a vivid imprinting of her brown eyes. He leaned back to stare at her. "You're unforgettable." Blair hesitated on his words because it was as close to an endearment as they had come since Georgina. Chuck wasn't one to miss an opening and he moved quickly into the space again, lips dangling dangerously close to hers. They would never find their satisfaction; Blair pushed him back across the small space the moment his breath mingled with hers. Chuck allowed it. Her arms were ineffectual; her strength paling to his but followed her hand's orders. He held back only long enough for her to regain her wits.

"Like I said, I got what I wanted."

Chuck watched her eyes and then, despite his general and now specific aversion to infidelity, he couldn't help but offer it to her. "You could have it again," Chuck suggested in a whisper.

Her response came in the shape of a palm, aimed at his cheek with violent force. He reeled back, but even as his cheek turned red, five perfect fingerprints outlined in a paler white, he didn't flinch. He was glad she slapped him; he needed the pain to draw his attention back, to remind him how dreadfully close to pathetic he was becoming.

That's why he didn't try again, didn't push further or try to touch her again. He simply waited as she turned away, stayed silent as she unlocked the door and disappeared.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa scrubbed the countertop for the third time even though the coffee shop was largely empty, perhaps because the shop was empty except for Dan. Vanessa split her working hours between this shop in Soho and another at Bedford Gallery. She had no trust fund, or in the case of Daniel an aging rock legacy to support her. She needed every single hour just to keep her head above water. For a moment, as she watched her brunette best friend flip idly from one page to another, she wondered if in his theatrics about poverty, he really understood what it meant. The boy sat in a corner booth, absently sipping cappuccino with one hand and turning his novel with the other. Vanessa took a deep breath and tossed her apron on the counter, sashaying across the small shop to sit at her best friend's side. As she drew closer Vanessa saw how intently Dan was studying his novel, a concentration built not in fascination but something darker. She doubted he was truly reading.

"Penny for your thoughts," Vanessa began the familiar game.

"They're worth..."

"So much more than that," Vanessa finished with a twinkle in her eye. She slid her long legs into the wooden booth, pity warming the base of her stomach.

"How's the script?" Dan was asking about her entry for the New York Film Academy short fiction contest. Vanessa had been invited to submit last year and the deadline was approaching, along with her dream of a full scholarship.

"Don't ask," Vanessa took a sip from his cup.

"That bad?"

"I've written thirty-six openings," Vanessa admitted. "Each worse than the one before." Vanessa stopped her friend before he could offer advice. "I'm sure inspiration will hit me when I least expect it," She echoed his regular offering. Dan offered one laugh before lethargy retook his features. "Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be," Dan asked, the slightest bit of self-mocking sarcasm biting the end of his sentence.

"I read the blast," Vanessa admitted. Gossip girl had blogged about Blair and Chuck's supposed night of passion. What else would have Dan drinking caffeine at 1:00 am on a school night?

"She said it wasn't true," Dan offered.

"And you believe her?"

"Why wouldn't I? I mean should I believe _Chuck_ _Bass_?"

"How about your own instincts?" Vanessa tried. She didn't hate Blair as much as she once had, but Vanessa couldn't be coddled into liking her either.

"She's changed," Dan countered but his voice dropped with his certainty. "At least she had."

Vanessa drummed her freshly painted nails against the wood of the booth, erratic beat playing through the silence Dan needed to put his thoughts in order.

"I thought she had really changed. At the end of last year she was so open, so natural and free... Now she's turning back into a bitch," He admitted and the use of profanity was enough to suggest his state of thought. "She was like a whole other person a few months back. I don't know why she's turning back into what she was."

"Maybe she was someone else for a while," Vanessa suggested. "Grief tends to do that to people."

"But grief is supposed change people."

"Maybe it has," Vanessa agreed. "Just not in the way you wanted."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric pulled at his necktie as he entered the familiar studio, kicked the door closed behind him after he smiled at the curious onlookers. The showing wasn't until the following week but scandal and talent had intertwined to create an incredible fervour. Rufus had made the right choice, Damien was going to bring publicity, the nature of such, Bedford Avenue Gallery had never known.

"Eric," Damien broke into a smile at first sight. "I thought you were at school."

"Club was cancelled," Eric put his camera on the entrance table. "Mr. Wright was ill."

"I suppose it would be ill manners to wish him continued illness?" Damien smirked at the younger boy.

"Just enjoy your time while it lasts," Eric returned the smirk and eyed the gallery, they were nearly done the arrangements and while it was a much smaller gallery than the Grant, it was almost a better layout for Damien's show. It had an intimacy and atmosphere that really melded with Damien's very personal works. "I like what you've done here."

"You're just saying that because we used your arrangement," Damien pointed at the far wall.

"Admit it; you just couldn't better my argument."

"I shouldn't have tried," Damien agreed. "After all, you are the academic _scholar."_

"How come when you say that it sounds like nerd?" Eric lowered his brows.

"If the shoe fits," Damien shrugged his shoulders, an amused smile replacing his smirk.

"Jackass!"

"Geek!"

"Amoeba!"

A smattering of laughter from the far side of the gallery detracted from the bickering and became the focus of Eric's attention. He turned to the feminine voice, ears instantly recognizing it as his mother's. The other laugh was deeper, masculine and unfamiliar. Eric's smile dropped to a frown as he remembered Chuck's conversation. "My mother's here?" He asked even though the answer was obvious.

"Yes," Damien admitted and Eric noticed just how his throat worked to make the single syllable.

"Why is she here?"

"I thought she was here to meet you," Damien tried and Eric knew from the flinch that his boyfriend was lying. He remembered the Thanksgiving two years prior and suddenly everything Chuck had indirectly spoken of played through his mind.

"How many times has she been here?" Eric barked. Damien raked a hand through his hair in contemplation. Eric knew he was considering how much truth to reveal and the existence of layers just spoke to how serious this was. "Just tell me the truth," Eric bit right through them all.

"She's here most days, for a little while..."

Eric just stood a moment in his own contemplation. Then he grabbed his camera back from the table and started for the far room. There was more than one way to confront a cheating mother. "Eric..." Damien whispered as the two boys approached the longer hall. Eric put a hand up to silence the Brit and then moved even more silently, even more slowly across the wood boards. He disabled the flash and inched around the corner, trying to keep as hidden as possible.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Damien whispered into his boyfriend's back.

Eric didn't give a reply beyond a click of the shutter. Eric wasn't sure what he wanted, he was just sure of what he didn't want.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck sat back in his father's chair. He did it a lot when his father was out of town, sat in the thick backed leather chair, hoping perhaps, that some of his father's expertise might bleed through to his son. Except he wasn't studying any drafts this time, he was studying the five page document he'd received from Yale.

He'd been avoiding this moment since Serena unsealed his acceptance. He'd checked the date of reply first, hoping just the slightest that it might have passed. It hadn't. He had another week. It's not that he didn't want to go to Yale. He'd even discussed applying last year; talked to his father about it when he'd been dating Blair. He hadn't wanted their relationship to end with high school. He'd been so sure they'd get that far. He must have been drunk. Now he wasn't and he was hoping for something else. He was hoping that at Yale, far away from the Upper East Side, he might earn another chance with Blair. By then he'd have settled things, by then he would be better.

If he could get there. Chuck read through every single condition, most of them were self-explanatory and many others he knew wouldn't stand up to a court challenge. He had to promise to conduct himself with propriety, to not defame the university, to allow his name to be used for publicity purposes. They were easy to fulfill. There were others that couldn't be resolved by keeping one's mouth shut or smiling for a camera, one that his eyes kept drifting back to. He was required to partake in sixty hours of drug and alcohol counselling before fall intake. Chuck recognized it for what it was. It was a test, how much did he really want to attend Yale?

If he hadn't known better Chuck would have guessed that his father crafted each and every condition. In fact, he did know better but still suspected.

Chuck opened and closed his phone four times before dialling the Dean's personal number. "Hello...Dean Baraby," Chuck sat back and sealed his future. He talked with the Dean for nearly an hour, his own enthusiasm breaking free from the layers of indifference he'd buried it in. If the conditions had hinted at it, then Dean Baraby's rambles made it perfectly clear why the university was accepting him. They deeply respected his father, and in times of recession, when their most famous graduates were nose-diving off luxury towers from London to Hong Kong, they needed the positive publicity to pull up their business school's sagging reputation. Chuck didn't mind. He knew he didn't belong there of his own merit. He was willing to accept their offer, no matter the reasons for which it was given. He could earn the university's respect later.

He phone beeped and after a quick scan of the number, Chuck clicked his brother through to voicemail. When Eric called back a second and third time it wasn't so simple to dismiss, nor as easy to focus on Baraby's line of questions. On the fourth call Chuck, having discussed everything of substance, excused himself and called his brother back.

"Chuck," Eric spoke across the airways. "We need to talk."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair eyed the petite blonde behind the door, the narrow glare of her painted eyes and knew exactly where she stood: Though she imagined that Jenny had hated her for longer than two days. She looked the sophomore up and down, several years of ruling authority cutting through the blonde's natural bitchiness. Jenny had been entirely undercut by Blair the year before and had never regained any of the popularity or power that she'd possessed in her first year at Constance Billiard. Not that she hadn't tried; she'd messed with the right boys but Blair had always kept her just far enough down. Blair imagined Jenny thought all would change when her brother started dating the Queen Bee. In a way it had. She'd desisted any action against the younger sister (to be honest she'd desisted long before that). It wasn't Blair's fault that Jenny didn't have the skills to climb back up.

"Jenny!" Dan called from behind the door and the blonde, with a sigh of resignation, opened the door. Dan chased his sister away with a peeved look and Blair took the chance to escape from the cold hallway. "I'm sorry," Dan offered automatically and Blair wondered if he truly was.

Blair threw her Hermes purse against the stained entranceway without a second thought. She'd long since moved beyond it. "I'm sorry" Blair countered and let it hang a moment before she explained what for. "Serena stopped by unexpectantly," Blair ignored her boyfriend's flinch at the name. She had so much more to make up for. "I brought movies."

"I thought we could talk instead," Dan cut her off and she felt that familiar dread return.

"If you want," Blair put her best fake smile forward.

They moved from the entranceway to the kitchen; Jenny scurrying towards her room as they approached. "I'm sorry for the mess," Dan mumbled and Blair realized she hadn't even noticed the piles of letters on the counter or the dirty dishes in the sink. Something was definitely wrong with her.

Dan boiled some water and took a box of tea from the cupboard. It was Blair's favourite blend, one she had brought over herself and insisted he keep. He only brewed it when she was there. "So what did you want to talk about?" Blair asked cheerily.

There was something in the way he spooned the honey that made the topic obvious. Blair prepared herself. "Do you think we fit," Dan asked as he pressed a cup into Blair's freezing hands.

"What do you mean?" Blair feigned cluelessness even though she'd thought the same thing a thousand times since their first kiss.

"We don't really have anything in common."

That was untrue. They were both scholarly and hardworking. That had to count for something. Blair was suddenly hit with the most absurd thought. They'd make excellent study partners. "I just think...the last few weeks."

She was about to be dumped. She ought to have been relieved but she wasn't. She could still feel Chuck's whispers, the heat of his touch as he'd traced her smaller body. She needed Dan and the protection he offered. She needed a boyfriend now more than ever. "I'm sorry," Blair said for the second time but it wasn't about the last couple weeks. She genuinely felt guilty, could feel the stain of adulterer painted on her forehead. "Things have been crazy. But they'll get better I promise."

"Blair..."

"This weekend..." Blair broke off. "We can do anything you want this weekend. Anything at all." She closed her eyes and waited for him to dump her anyway. He ought to. She deserved it. She didn't even know why she was trying to salvage something that was broken in the first place. She just knew that she owed him and she needed something to make the guilt go away. She just hoped it wouldn't involve hours of poetry or artistic theatre.

"Camping," Dan decided and every single nerve ending in Blair's body curled in revulsion.

"Sounds great," Blair squealed in false enthusiasm. She reopened her eyes and pasted the largest, brightest, fakest smile on her face.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – I'm sorry about not doing the personal reviews last time. I had wanted to PM you all but I just don't use the internet much and since the next post was finished I decided to reply to everyone here._

_PS: I wanted to say that last weeks GG was the biggest fail I've ever watched. I literally hated everything about it. I hate when TV shows rip off movies (no creativity or what) so the whole Eyes Wide Shut was a FAIL. And Dan/Teacher. I've already given my heavily disgusted thoughts on that one. The only scene I did enjoy was the Nate-Vanessa one. And apparently they're going to ruin that this week with some random Nate-Blair. I absolutely hate Nate and Blair as a couple so I'm readying my barf bag as we speak. Oh, when did I become such a vicious reviewer? Honestly though. If there's no CB by the end of this season then I think I'm done with the show. I don't like being screwed around for this long._

_Sky Samuelle – That whole scene in the closet was definitely Chuck trying to steal back the control. He hadn't managed yet though._

_Modernmyth – thanks :) I hope Blair explained things better in the beginning of this chapter. She's a little confused herself right now._

_LD – nope, Blair and Dan are still together but things are obviously not very steady._

_Bradshaw-esque – Unfortunately Lily's good at screwing things up, but she may find herself screwed more than the rest of them._

_Bluestriker – thanks_

_Annablake – Chuck is definitely caught in a bad place and it's only going to get worse when his Dad gets back and he'd even more confronted with his knowledge._

_Blacklace – the UnjudgingBreakfastClub will go through a few more incarnations through the rest of this story and Blair will definitely get a role back_

_BRKOD – I think Lily really does love Chuck but what she's doing to him right now is really sh*tty. She ought not to try to get him to side with her against his father, but Lily is fundamentally a selfish creature._

_CBEBTRBLSB trory12 – Yeah, Serena and Blair are doing alright right now. They're going to stay pretty solid through the rest of GRG._

_Puresimplicity-xo – I think that no matter what happens between Bart, Lily and Rufus, Chuck and Eric will remain brothers because they're just that close. Chuck and Serena...not necessarily though they're getting closer._

_Ashtondene – Right now Serena is pretending nothing happened and I think it the long run she can't judge Blair (no matter how much she'd wish to) because she's not the paragon of virtue herself._

_Doxeh – I honestly don't think that Blair fits with Nate so I can't see her really being involved in a NSB triangle. She'd moved so far past that in this story that I don't think I could see her really wanting Nate again. I'm going to have a really hard time with it on this week's show. I think they're the GG couple I hate most. They have absolutely nothing in common and he treated her like dirt when they were together._

_MidnightSky – Serena and Nate are going public very shortly and the reprucussions are kind of interesting_

_Up Next – A camping trip? Angry words, honest words, some well timed begging and one OMFG coupling!_


	13. Chapter Five Part Two

A/N – prepare yourself :)

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Five – Part Two**

Eric watched his brother down sips of scotch between every photo, the sullen frown not leaving Chuck's lips even as the tart liquid burned beyond them. Eric tried to craft a statement that would disarm the game his brother was playing: Something about how drinking oneself to oblivion one day and avoiding a single drop for the next two was probably no better than being outright smashed on a daily basis. He considered, reworked but couldn't find the insult that was subtle enough to provoke the conversation he wanted. Chuck would carve through his bullshit before he was done speaking. "I thought I could talk to my mom," Eric suggested instead, "show her the pictures."

"Not worth the energy," Chuck admitted and seeing that Eric had collected more evidence than he could hope to manage, Chuck proceeded to fill the younger brother in on his mother's escapade.

"You agreed not to tell Bart?" Eric repeated in surprise.

"She promised me it was nothing and that it was over."

Eric nodded his head contemplatively and Chuck quickly grew uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter what I said. She didn't uphold her half of the bargain."

"So are you going to call your dad?"

Chuck didn't have an answer for that, at least not the answer he wanted to have. He ought to have his father's best interests in mind but telling his father would end this family they'd created. He didn't want to be alone, and perhaps worse, he didn't want to live with only his father. Not that he'd admit that to Eric or anyone else. He needed another scheme: something else. And then, as if to answer his unspoken prayer, an idea sparked. "I have a plan," he decided while the details still formed.

"Yes," Eric waited expectantly.

"I'll be back," He promised and reached for his coat. He'd slipped it halfway on when he stopped. "Unless you'd like to come with me."

"I have a call of my own to make."

Chuck nodded his head slowly and reached for the pictures. "I'm going to need these." He informed rather than asked; shoving them half into his pocket before he even met his brother's eyes. Eric gave a curt nod and Chuck was to his feet, the spark of an idea changing to an outright scheme as he moved, bringing with it a charged excitement.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric stared at the nondescript door and hesitated. He had the key in his pocket but he didn't feel like using it that night. He formed a fist instead, knocking against the layer of wood. After a moment Damien answered. The scent of paint greeted him again, signalling Damien's rebirth as the distinguished artist. The Brit put one paint splattered toe behind the other, stepping back to allow Eric entrance. He might have inquired as to Eric's mood, but the glowering frown coupled with his immediate departure from Bedford that afternoon, made the implication clear.

"How did it go?" Damien asked. "With your mother."

"Are you worried?" Eric's brow rose in challenge. "Afraid that Rufus will be angry if I rock the boat."

"Why would I be?"

"You have quite the history of putting the career first?"

"What?" Damien was genuinely shocked. "What! Of course not!"

Eric stared the Brit up and down, the shaky re-established trust on the line. He crossed his arms instinctively, measuring every movement of the other boy's eyes or chin. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I just thought, after what you told me about your mom, that she'd likely grow bored. I didn't think it was worth wrecking havoc."

"My mother doesn't grow bored until she sends the white dress to the cleaners."

"I didn't..."

"You would have if you had talked to me about it," Eric spoke with a harsh edge. He was in the right.

"It's just..." Damien took a deep breath. "You're so much younger..." It was three years! It hardly deserved the moniker _much_. "I thought if I could protect you..."

"Are you kidding me?" Eric's harshness changed to humour. This was probably the worst explanation he could have anticipated, perhaps touching on some odd level, but definitely the worst. "Damien," Eric took a deep breath and excused the Brit's blunder for what it was. "You don't get to make those decisions for me. I'm more than capable of handling things myself."

"I know that," Damien admitted. "I'm not good at this stuff."

"If you're talking about cheating then I'm glad."

"No," Damien dismissed the idea and then, realizing what he'd suggested, backtracked. "I mean yes!" God dammit! He used to be so smooth! "It's just that when you ..." Eric watched his boyfriend struggle for the word and his own breath caught in anticipation of it. "Care," The Brit detoured around it and Eric tried not to feel disappointed, "about someone it's hard to not want to shelter them."

"That's cute," Eric insisted "but I can handle things better than you."

"Whatever," Damien rolled his eyes.

"Love you lover," Eric said lightly as he turned towards the kitchen, leaving his older boyfriend sputtering in his wake.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair sat on the edge of a log, darkened wilderness blanketing her from every side. If you asked her where she imagined herself a year ago this would definitely be the last option. Staring at the brunette boy poke the fire, she decided he would have been the most unlikely candidate. It was odd, they'd been dating for over two months and he was still the unlikely boyfriend. They should have fallen into some sort of routine. It didn't feel like that. At times they debated, at others she confessed things she probably shouldn't, but that was the extent of her affection and she supposed his. She should have felt comfortable with him. She didn't. He was still Dan Humphrey and she often caught herself wondering how and why he'd snuck into her life plan. How had Dan carved a niche large enough to shelter in? The smoke shifted with the wind, pushing across the small space and directly into Blair's face. She brushed it angrily away, considered shifting with it and again debated why the hell she'd agree to come. Ah yes! It was because she was the adulterer. She had the "A" tattooed across her heart, though perhaps she ought to have carved it into her wrist instead; that way she could refer to it as miserable night changed to miserable morning.

The pine trees cracked and swung in the evening breeze, sounds that still scared Blair several hours after she first heard them. She wouldn't admit to being scared. Dan might try to comfort her. They'd arrived at the campground after sunset, having driven out after school instead of leaving Saturday morning like any sensible person might. Not that a sensible Upper East Sider would even chose camping as their weekend enjoyment. Another crack of wood and Blair pulled the woollen blanket tighter around her, wrapping one end fully around her head, obscuring everything but her face. It didn't help. At least she was warmer. Blair Waldorf was wearing fleece! Dan had insisted she borrow his sweater (plaid no less!) and measured against the chill of the night it seemed like a reasonable compromise. She shivered again and considered barking at her, whatever he was, to get another blanket from the RV. The vehicle was Dan's sole concession to her lifestyle. She'd rented it. She'd have rented a larger one but he preached prudence then admitted he'd be scared to drive anything as large as she had considered. It was something. Despite the magnitude of her sins, Blair Waldorf was not bedding down under nylon. Not now: not at the end of February. Only _Dan Humphrey _could suggest camping when there was snow piled to each side of the highway. But he swore everything would be alright because apparently Dan was some undercover boy scout. Well, kind of. He was the type that couldn't make a fire that didn't smoke, and whose culinary offerings consisted of half-cooked wieners and burnt marshmallows. She'd have puked it up already but apparently the campsites offerings consisted of a hole in the ground, and the tin can they were staying in didn't exactly offer enough privacy.

Perhaps she'd skipped right past purgatory and ended in hell.

"It's a beautiful night," Dan sighed into the winter air, eyes twinkling to match the star-filled sky. Blair considered looking up she was afraid any sudden movements would result in another cool draft finding the back of her neck. "Blair," Dan nearly whined and Blair remembered her commitment. She forced her eyes upward and the sight took her breath away. The sky was clear, a sheet of black broken only by thousands of sparkling beams. They glimmered in random patterns, brightened and darkened only to draw her eye from one to another. "You don't get a view like that in New York." Blair was startled by the voice.

"There are other views in the city, beautiful things," Blair countered, her mask reforming layer by layer.

Dan didn't support or contradict her argument. He just sat further back into the log that served as a seat, stretched his legs out to warm by the fire. "My parents used to take Jenny and me here every summer: when we were little."

"Couldn't afford a real vacation?" Blair snickered, pulling her blanket tighter again.

"What's a real vacation?"

"Paris, Milan..."

"I'm sure they're lovely places," Dan decided. "But even the most beautiful backdrop can't make something real if it's not spent with people who truly love you."

"My parents love me," Blair snapped.

"I never said they didn't," Dan reminded her. "But I will always love those summers." He started and Blair stayed silent. He described in detail exactly why and the picture he painted was excruciating in its detail: the loving father and mother, the doting sister. Blair had to cut him off before he went too far.

"All good things come to an end," Blair reminded him. "My parents were very happy once too. We were a very close family."

"I'm sorry," Dan offered and Blair, for all her aloofness found herself offering a sincere sentiment in return. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Blair stared at the brunette in disbelief? Why would she want to revisit that? "I try not to think about it."

"Why?"

Blair turned away from him and studied their pathetic fire, the burning ambers that barely rose up in actual flame. "Because it hurts."

"So why hold onto it?"

"I'm not! _We _don't talk about things like this."

"You mean the elite don't have feelings?"

Blair stared again. "You have no idea. Everything you ever do will be brilliant; everything you ever write will be meaningful, say will be purposeful. You have no dynasty to placate, if you make a mistake no one cares about it. You can always reach upward. When your family is already at the top there's only one way to go and heaven forbid if you're the one to take the step that starts the spiral. For you the world is ready to conquer, our only mission is to defence."

"I understand."

Blair laughed at the mere thought that Dan Humphrey could understand what it meant to be a Waldorf, or a Van der Woodsen or even an Archibald. "You could probably craft a five hundred page novel around the concept, construct tension, fashion characters that lived and breathed but you'd still never understand."

"You're afraid of weakness."

Blair took another swig of the water that passed as coffee. She didn't say anything. She hated that he could reduce her diatribe to a single sentence, but even more so because that same sentence summarized every thought.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck leaned against the older brick building, cigarette dangling from his lips, orange trench coat entirely out of place in the land of jeans and hooded sweaters. He'd considered calling outright, dialling the three digit code and demanding to be seen. There were too many drawbacks to the being straightforward: Rufus might be at home, Jenny might pick up, or Dan could slam the phone down upon hearing his drawl. Chuck preferred to play the odds. So he waited for a target, someone needing a bit of attention. He needed to charm his way into the building. He had little doubt that Dan would listen if confronted with the facts, or act once in full understanding. Dan might have had his faults, but his perchance for priggish moralizing was going to help their cause. Chuck tossed the lit butt to the side as a portly woman struggled to balance two grocery bags and hold the thick glass door. This was going to be easier than he thought.

Chuck stood in front of the cherry door. He'd had to check the unfamiliar number downstairs, twice; just to be sure he reached the right place. He should have knocked already but every time he reached up something stopped him. It shouldn't have been that hard. He was Chuck freaking Bass. He hammered loudly, tapping his feet impatiently in time. He wanted this over and down with.

The door opened almost immediately and when Chuck caught sight of who was behind it he breathed a little easier. At least it wasn't a Humphrey. Vanessa froze in surprise when she caught sight of who the visitor was, black curls staying still against her pale face, thin arms staying on the doorknob. "Chuck?" She finally forced into the silence.

"Get Humphrey for me," Chuck demanded loudly as he leaned against the door frame.

"Can't do it," Vanessa didn't even flinch. She crossed her arms across her chest. "The whole family is away for the weekend."

"Then what are you doing here?" He asked sarcastically.

"I'm house-sitting _and trying to write_." She tried to hurry his departure.

"How cute," Chuck rolled his eyes. "So the Humphrey clan is on a little family vacation?"

"Rufus is in Boston, Jenny is with her mom and Dan took a trip with Blair." Perhaps she didn't need to mention the details, but she couldn't resist the dig. It seemed the logical response to Chuck's bravado. Neither could she resist the guilt once the truth carved through Chuck's intoxicated brain.

"Dan and Blair took a trip together?" Chuck couldn't stop either the repetition or the hitch as he uttered the words. He waited for her confirmation, tried to keep his jaw from clenching, but it moved despite his intent. Why was it even shocking? Blair'd been dating Dan for ages. He'd saw their chaste pecks between classes, the casually held hands. It wasn't the overeager make out sessions of Blair and Nate. Maybe he'd been lulled into thinking that was the extent of Blair and Dan's relationship.

"They went camping," Vanessa explained, her voice naturally dropping lower, hand pulling Chuck into the apartment. She wasn't sure why she did it. It just looked like, well of course it wouldn't be _that,_ but it did look like Chuck Bass was going to cry in the hallway.

"Camping," Chuck laughed aloud at the thought, sound more disbelief than mirth. "In the Waldorf limo?"

"They rented something."

"They rented a car?" Chuck took a deep breath, trying to stop the clenching in his chest from spreading upward. When he chanced a look at Vanessa he realized it was in vain. She was staring at him with genuine pity. He was thankful for it: the anger it sparked let him focus elsewhere. He decided to pick something else, anything else. "Dan knows how to drive?"

"Of course! He'd known for over a year."

Chuck pulled his phone from his pocket, happy for the distraction. Vanessa stared to talk through his dial tone but Chuck put a finger up to silence her. She gasped in shock but nevertheless obeyed. "I'd like you to book some driving lessons." Chuck demanded as his father's assistant answered. He paused as the older woman spoke her piece. "Yes I know you can't drink and drive," Chuck repeated and Vanessa tried to contain her laughter. Chuck leaned back against the door, eyes narrowing naturally, "Yes I know what a zero tolerance policy is," He rolled his eyes and then truly considered. "Just forget I asked," He finally barked and shut the phone.

By the time he looked up Vanessa was nearly falling over with the attempt to keep her laughter in check. She didn't know why she was trying. Perhaps it was how sad he'd looked when she'd mentioned Dan and Blair's little trip. "Just laugh and be done with it," He snapped, the lack of humour killing Vanessa's. Vanessa straightened up and stared the enigma in the eye.

"Would you like to leave Dan a note?" Vanessa asked. "I mean, you could leave your number and _I'm sure_ he'd call you back.

Chuck couldn't help but defer to her logic. He tapped his side pocket and the photographs they held. "Do you have an envelope?"

"I'm sure I can find one," Vanessa stood back, shutting the door as she retreated, waving at the pile of shoes to one side.

Chuck eyed the towering stack of shoes and decided that the Humphrey loft needed a house cleaner. He seriously debated adding his priceless loafers to the collection of manufactured heels. Maybe if he hesitated long enough he wouldn't need to truly step into the space. "Chuck?" Vanessa called from across the loft, waving note pad and pen. He kicked the stack to one side and, once the barrier was breeched, tossed his trench to the other pile. Despite the months his stepsister had devoted to the younger resident, Chuck had never been inside the Humphrey loft but it was exactly as he imagined it, if not a bit dingier. The walls were light, but the space was so overcrowded with photographs that it created a darker appearance; an absurd number of family photo frames marking Christmases, birthdays and parts in between. It couldn't quite compare with professional design but after another quick glance perhaps design couldn't compare with this.

He felt entirely out of place as his eyes swam between the personal touches cluttering every inch. It wasn't as it ought to be. He should have marched in like reigning royalty. Instead he felt closed in by the chaotic mess. "Are you alright?" Vanessa's voice broke through his internal monologue. His eyes turned abruptly to hers, his narrowed eyes hesitating just slightly over her eyes. They were a fascinating colour, almost violet under the right light. He snatched the pad and sat wordlessly at the breakfast bar. He had a bar like it in his own suite, except his was chiselled out of granite, not carved out of dark wood. His was pristine; this one showed its age through countless crisscrossing scratches and a single circular burn mark. The stupid thing was that Chuck knew that there would be a story behind each one.

"Pen," he barked and held his hand expectantly. He didn't even look up as the tiny cylinder was laid against his palm. He did when he drew the pen down and saw the pink, fluffy ball suspended on a spring. He chanced a look upward, the contented grin on Vanessa's features causing him to fight one from his own. He turned back to the paper and the battle between smirk and incredulous glare intensified. The paper was shaped in an enormous heart, pinks and blues competing with a ridiculous amount of glitter. "This is the best you could do," Chuck dismissed her.

"I was pressed for time."

Chuck just shook his head, smile initially winning the war before being swallowed up by his task. He put pen to paper but no words materialized. He knew what he wanted to say. _Stop your father from fucking my stepmother_. Somehow that didn't have the right ring. Vanessa shifted awkwardly behind him, moving from his side to stand within the kitchen.

"Would you like something to drink?" Vanessa finally offered as the time passed and Chuck hadn't managed his chore.

Chuck snorted at her suggestion. "Can or bottle?" He could almost hear her roll her eyes as she moved away, staring up as she dug through several cupboards, eyes flitting from her to the tiny cooking space. One entire wall was a push pin board. There were writing samples, ticket stubs and hundreds of pictures pressed one upon the other. He felt like the proverbial outsider spying on a happy family. The Bass men put nothing on display, erased the past before they'd even progressed beyond it. This space had so many pictures of their family, father and mother. If you didn't look carefully, notice the fact that each parent always appeared separately, then you might have imagined that they were still the perfect nuclear unit. How could Rufus destroy another family while playing at father of the year? He was as much a hypocrite as his son.

Vanessa put a glass in front of him, drawing his attention back to the present moment. He eyed the amber liquid with disbelief, once his eyes trailed along the bar to the bottle his disbelief tripled. "Scotch right?" Vanessa remembered.

"How?" Chuck eyed the three hundred dollar bottle in shock.

"Rufus likes a good drink time and again," Vanessa enlightened him. "The operative words being time and again: This bottle's been laying her for six months already."

Chuck took the glass in his hand and tried to forget that the same bottle wouldn't last six days with him.

"So are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"

"It's strictly on a need to know basis."

"Dan will tell me sooner or later."

"He might have reason not to."

"Is it true then?" Vanessa asked. "That story about you and Blair?"

Chuck's eyes moved at her question, returning to the punch board and the perfect family. "This is not about that." He avoided the question as his eyes weaved. They caught in the left corner, casual observer replaced by obsessed examiner. He saw the chestnut curls first, flung from one side of a photo to the other: her eyes beckoned from another, mischievous but light: her hands pulled at him even as they covered Dan's chest. Blair was laughing, deep throaty chuckles that he swore he could hear despite the two dimensions of film. Something inside dragged, pulled, jerked from side to side: Perhaps the last few ticks of his heart before final silence. He ought to have turned away, but just like the first time, the swing set and the smiles it was entirely captivating. His glass emptied even before he realized he was drinking. "How come you didn't end up with Dan?" He spat, trying to pretend the other brunette in Blair's place.

"Some things are priceless just the way they are." Vanessa refilled his glass and then poured one of her own.

"I could make it worth your while," Chuck turned back to the waifish girl and smirked. "Five times what I offered before."

"Like I said, some things are priceless, some friendships aren't worth losing." Vanessa's lips curled in a smirk to match his. "Why don't you try to win her back?"

"She looks happy with Dan."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"She deserves someone more like Dan."

"I think she deserves someone like you," Vanessa countered and Chuck knew she didn't mean it in the complimentary sense.

"You don't know her," Chuck defended Blair and by doing so Vanessa began to understand something she'd long wondered: What Chuck Bass truly thought of himself. "She was there for me through everything, not just last year but before. It was my fault that things went to hell."

"I never understood why. Nate told me bits and pieces but I never understood how Georgina managed to better both of you. I figured you both had enough strength of mind to defeat the antichrist," Vanessa moved from behind kitchen to take the empty stool beside him. "Or create it."

He snorted at the idea, tipping his scotch again.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

Chuck stared at her in disbelief, a thousand snarky comments forming on his lips to reaffirm the needed distance. He opened his mouth to silence her curiosity but that's not what came forth. "You'd better keep pouring if you want to know." Vanessa did as told, filling the chipped glass to the brim. It was a few splashes on already heavy evening consumption, not enough to bring forth the words that were already forming in his mouth.

"Georgina was my first love," Chuck acknowledged for the first time, waiting instinctively for the walls to cave in or the floor to open up and swallow him. It didn't, the only thing that broke was Vanessa's detached neutrality.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Was it true," Dan finally broached the subject as the first embers of morning light invaded their campground. Blair knew the topic had likely been on his mind since they left. It was probably his sole purpose in dragging her here: To get her to confess. She eyed the stones that were gathered in a circle around the fire. Would he throw them at her? He seemed like the stoning type except it was 2009 not 1609. Maybe he would stab her to death with the oversized cooking fork and then feed her body to a pack of stray wolves. It was a more modern solution to their problem? "Did you sleep with Chuck?"

"I did," Blair said despite the danger, fingers shaking just slightly against her tea cup. She waited for the litany of insults, the overly developed opinions and expressed judgement. She waited a good ten minutes but it never came and that made Blair's fingers shake so hard that she put the cup aside. "Don't you want to know why?" She finally broke the silence.

"I think I already know," Dan admitted and removing one hand from beneath his blanket he threaded his warm fingers through her cold ones, rubbing her fingers idly with his thumb. "You love Chuck Bass."

"You love Serena Van der Woodsen."

"I can't believe she's with Nate."

"He's such a better fit for her," Blair decided.

"Thanks!"

"What? It's obvious."

"You might find that people fit together in ways you never imagined, and don't fit together no matter how much they should or want to."

Blair stared across at the brown-haired boy and wondered just who he was talking about because it didn't seem like Serena or Nate, or even Dan and Serena or Chuck and Blair."

It sounded a hell of a lot like them.

The later part anyway.

He kept talking, a tidal wave or words that had finally been set free. It's like her cheating had freed him to discuss his own thoughts, most of which centred on her blonde best friend. He waited for her reciprocate and she did at first. It was nice to be understood. She almost felt free, at least for the first twenty minutes. After that, well, she just kind of wished he would shut up. She buried herself deeper under the blanket, listened to his torrent of feelings, deciding as one hour lapsed into another that no matter how hard she tried, Blair Waldorf could never going to love the sentimental type. She wanted to stab him: she wanted to feed him to the wolves. "Can we talk about something other than Serena or Chuck," Blair finally spat out.

"Of course," Dan quickly agreed but then just as quickly lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

_That's just great!_ Blair thought to herself. She never had a relationship; she had a steady progression of after school specials. The uncomfortable minute dragged into another, and then another and Blair swore she could hear crickets chirping but there were never crickets in New York.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By the time Chuck had guided Vanessa through his twisted tale, they were both staring at the bottom of a bottle of ____ and Chuck was wondering how the hell they'd ended there. He'd just told his life story to a complete stranger. Okay, maybe they weren't complete strangers but it was close enough. The strange thing was he didn't feel the way he thought he would. He could feel the embarrassment creep up his throat but it wasn't closing it off as he expected. The anger had dulled rather than grown through the retelling, the pain as real as it was then but muted by the time that had passed.

He very nearly felt better for it.

"That was..." Vanessa's voice trailed off and she savoured the last of the scotch.

"Yeah," Chuck threw the last of his own drink back. He grabbed his cell from the counter and started flicking through. He needed something to occupy his fingers, to keep his eyes from looking up.

"I..."

Chuck laid the phone back down and without meeting Vanessa's violet eyes asked the question that underlay everything else. "I just don't understand how I could have loved someone like that." That was the issue that always lingered in his mind. How could he love someone who stole his dignity and soul along with his heart? He'd built enough walls to prevent it from happening for years after, but he'd never understood why it had happened first.

"It doesn't sound like you loved her," Vanessa philosophized and it caught the boy's attention. He turned immediately her way. "It sounds like you loved what she did for you."

Chuck let the thought fester a moment, certain comfort in the idea that he might not have truly loved Georgina. It was undone by the idea that he wanted what she had done. "How could I have loved what we did? Do you know how much I hurt my dad? I made him cry," Chuck finally admitted and the mere thought made the tears start in his own eyes, clouding them over until his brown eyes turned a glassy black. "Not a couple little tears, I made him full out cry...gagging sobs." Vanessa put a hand to his shoulder, her own shock mixing with empathy to create warmth that transferred from her fingertips to his shoulders. "I would have to be a monster to have loved that," He admitted between his own tears.

Vanessa put a hand out and brushed the hair from his eyes. "I can't believe I'm going to say this but you, Chuck Bass," Vanessa put a finger to his chin and made his eyes meet the sincerity in hers, "are not that bad."

There was something in those words, the quiet belief that he wasn't the devil he pretended to be and secretly believed he truly was. It lifted something from within and if it didn't stop the tears, at least it let a genuine smile peak through then. "I'm not that bad?" He repeated, a playfulness emerging bit by bit.

"I suspect," Vanessa admitted, hand still to his chin, her own eyes lightening in teasing. "That a part of you might just be great."

His genuine smile tugged at the end, a tiny smirk playing at one corner, tears slowing underneath her belief in him. It might not be the person who needed to forgive him, but it was something. It was something good. Like the softness of her hand underneath his chin, the unbroken examination of her eyes. "Thank you," He whispered into their small divide, watching as it grew smaller, realizing in the last minute that he wasn't the initiator.

Vanessa kissed him urgently and he let her lead a moment until his natural instincts took over, guiding the movement of his hands. He grabbed the back of her head, each balancing precariously on their stools as their tongues touched. Her shirt was ripped before they collapsed to the floor, backs pinned against linoleum, hands everywhere else. He was inside her, his name was on her lips before either considered exactly where they were, or the hundred reasons why this was an entirely bad decision.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – Sorry it was a bit longer for this post, I'm working on report cards right now (at least it was a long post). The next couple posts might be delayed. I hope you don't kill me for the CV. CV has always been my secondary ship (after BC) so I couldn't resist throwing a bit in :)

I had to add one more comment on the episode before the last one. The head teacher so wouldn't have taken Ms. Carr's side with what happened between her and Blair (the Opera). Teachers aren't supposed to fraternize with their students after school. They finally got that right the next episode (with Serena & Carr and Dan & Carr), but I was shaking my head wondering why they were punishing Blair when Carr shouldn't have planned to meet a student in the first place. Sorry, this storyline is really bothering me (for obvious reasons).

Puresimplicity – Chuck and Blair find their resolution before they graduate. We're in the beginning of March right now so still a lot of time to solve their problems.

Bradshaw-esque – Chuck might wish he'd slept with Nate instead. Despite Chuck's advice, Eric is definitely going to confront his mother and he won't be the only one.

Doxeh – It wasn't actually the Jenny cameo but it set up the actual cameo. I hadn't planned on writing her in there but I thought you guys would need a transition to understand what she'd been up to since the beginning of TH. She's basically been trying to crawl her way back up by trying to date the right guys etc. As for DB being a fail, I totally agree. I think they've been a fail since the first time they kissed but alas I'm enjoying having the train wreck chug further along.

Ashtondene – I think Chuck's self-esteem is too much in the toilet at the moment to worry about making Blair love him. He has to get through his current issues first and until that I don't think they could be successful together.

CBEBTR troryl12 – thanks :) DB have been on their last legs since day one. They just don't really mesh.

BRKOD – Sorry, no VD (hides). I just love their dynamic as friends so much that I haven't figured how to take that and turn it into a romance without it being outright boring.

Sky Samuelle – I love that you took Chuck's side. Most of the rest of the readers were supporting Blair. It was cute to see such a division (and fun too, it's nice to see I can drag people in different directions). I tend to side more with Chuck too. Blair really did use him and he took it because his self-esteem is at an all time low at the moment. This chapter is the first on the road upward.

Annablake – I think Nate and Serena do suffer from the lack of substance. I've tried to pen a few scenes for the two of them but it's missing something.

Xcshortie – thanks :)

GrantingTroyTurner – ding, ding, and ding. You are the only one to guess the OMFG coupling right. I am also a CV shipper (to a lesser degree than CB though) and I had their little storyline sketched out before the CV on the show.

:D – thanks :)

Up Next – the moment most of you have been anticipating since the end of YCFYF, Chuck and Vanessa...errr..maybe, and someone is about to take their last transatlantic flight...yep, the very LAST one.


	14. Chapter Five Part Three

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Five – Part Three**

Vanessa's first thought once the pulsating lights dimmed and the erratic shaking turned to euphoric calm was that she shouldn't be sticking to the Humphrey couch in this manner, sweat mingling with other bodily fluids to paint a sheen film across her skin. It was only after, that she felt Chuck move beside her, sensed his little butterfly kisses up her arm, his hand cradled behind her slender waist. His leg was wrapt through hers and she was trying to consider who crossed first, whether she had snuck her slender leg between his or he had wrapt his around her. When his lips found her ear, and he pulled her flush against his bare chest she realized it was all him. She could have let herself fall against him but it wouldn't have helped the dizzying disequilibrium that was working its way already. It wasn't the first time she'd slept with a relative stranger. She liked to believe she was a liberated woman and that included her sexuality. That's not to say that she made casual sex a regular or even expected occurrence. There was a time for expression and a time for restraint.

Vanessa let her eyes scan the room, let her thoughts fall on anything but the tongue currently studying the bend of her earlobe. "We drank the entire bottle," Vanessa realized in shock. It was lying discarded along with their two glasses. How the hell was she going to replace a $300 bottle of scotch?

"I'll bring you a new one tomorrow morning," Chuck whispered into her ear, the smoothness of his voice making her shiver but not necessarily in pleasure.

She remembered why she practiced restraint. Those moments of control were designed for the Chuck Basses of the world. She was never supposed to feel cigarette smoke on her tongue, or hear the tiny whispers that were entirely out of place coming from a boy like him. "Please tell me that you're not a cuddler," Vanessa freaked out, kicking suddenly at his feet.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Normally nothing: _From_ _you_ it's wrong on so many different levels."

The only response Chuck could make to that was to disentangle his legs from hers, to push himself to further across the sofa.

"You need to leave," Vanessa decided.

Chuck's surprised look turned to a smirk. This was beyond amusing. He was being thrown out of the _Humphrey_ loft by _Vanessa_ _Abrams_. "No third time?" Chuck let his eyes drop deliberately to her body, still uncovered and unprotected from his suggestive words.

Vanessa grabbed at a woollen throw and fashioned a quick dress to cover herself. "Get out," She rephrased and started collecting the clothes that were strewn from one side of the loft to the other.

"Such hurry," Chuck lounged further back in the seat, refusing to move a single muscle. "Kind of like the first time...Not the second though..." He teased further, gaining a cashmere sweater aimed at his head. He ducked to one side as she threw and then continued. "That was _delightfully_ slow."

"I need to write," Vanessa begged off.

"Have you been inspired?" Chuck's smirk grew. "I tend to do that to people."

"But what is it that you inspire?" Vanessa threw along with a pair of wool pants.

"Why don't you answer that one," Chuck suggested as pulled his shirt to cover.

Vanessa held his socks out and considered ignoring his question. What exactly did inspire that little moment? She wasn't the romantic type, hell she was the opposite, well thought, practical to a fault.

The kind of girl that never slept with boys like Chuck Bass.

Except for a while he hadn't seemed like the Chuck Bass everyone knew. Perhaps it was an uncharacteristically sentimental answer but she felt blessed for the glimpse he had allowed. No matter how hard he smirked now, she could still feel the salt of his tears against her unpainted lips. She marched to the kitchen, letting the question hang unanswered. Grabbing the pen and pad Vanessa quickly scrawled her own note and brought it back to Chuck. She handed it wordlessly and then repeated her command. "Please leave."

Chuck read the note and then looked up in surprise. It was a repetition of her words from hours before, put to permanence in ink. He placed in the pocket of his pants, and stood up. "Thanks for the fun," He dropped an unnecessary kiss on her cheek and then waltzed out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair dragged her duffle from the lift, slight body bent over with the effort of moving, smoke polluted hair falling into her face with every step. Dan waltzed in behind, hands empty and brow carefree about it. Blair liked to see it as progress. The two had wisely called the trip to an end after only one night. Blair let her burden drop in the middle of the hall, pulled her feet from her destroyed flats and yelled out for Dorota.

"So I'll return the RV," Dan explained. "Then get you for breakfast?"

Blair crossed her arms. Who was he kidding? Never mind the fact that it was 12 noon and she hadn't slept since Thursday night! Never mind that she smelt like the bottom of an ashtray, and she had discovered blisters in areas she'd never seen before! Why the hell would she want breakfast with him? Blair spun around and finally spoke her piece. "This has to end. It was cute in the beginning, but I've filled my quota of Oprah moments." She paused a moment, "For the rest of my life!"

"That's great!" Dan blurted out, a huge grin spreading across his face.

Blair stared strangely at him, but, truth be told, she was secretly pleased that she wouldn't need to dry his girly tears. "Well, anyway, bye." She waved him back towards the lift and started up the stairs.

"Blair," his voice called out as his hand hit the down button. Blair took a disappointed breath. Maybe she'd have to dry a few. She turned back around to face his eyes. They weren't clouded over, they were just thoughtful. "Friends?" He offered.

Blair thought a good moment and then, proving she'd learned something over the last two months, she spoke honestly. "I think that's all we ever were."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck awoke with the strangest sense of calm: it lasted for a grand total of seventeen seconds before he remembered what sparked it. His head ached and when he stared at the bedside clock he realized it was nearly the afternoon. He'd slept longer than he had in months. He ought to have felt rested, and he did for that same seventeen seconds. Then last night flashed behind his eyes, his pulse increasing with every memory.

What the hell had he done?

He felt suddenly, terrifyingly sober. The kind of sobriety he couldn't handle, where everything was too clear, too sharp and fully defined: the type that let all the fear seep through, first in a manageable trickle, and then in an uncontrolled torrent. It wasn't just the fear. It was everything: anger, pain, happiness and hope mingling in a convoluted soup.

He was getting really tired of feeling everything.

He heard it then; the soft, melodic voice urging him to the other room, promising to fill in his weaknesses, to cover everything he didn't want. When he closed his eyes he could visualize her: sometimes it was a petite Asian, others a tall redhead or a voluptuous blonde. No matter the fantasy the fingers were the same, the lips imprinted on his ear, making promises that would materialize only for a moment or an evening.

It figured. His addict voice would be womanly and sensuous.

And he heard it every damn morning. Chuck rubbed at his eyes, ignoring that choice, the same choice he faced again, again and again. It would be so easy to just give in. He'd done it enough in the last few weeks, the other side, the sensible voice growing weaker in his repeated failings. It would be so easy to just stop trying. There was no one to disappoint, he'd made sure not to tell a soul aside from his doctor. It'd be so simple to give up; so much easier than wading constantly upstream.

It's a good thing Sherman had Saturday office hours. He flipped his phone and took the harder road.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa curled up on the loft's sofa, staring critically through the pages she'd written non-stop for the last seven hours, excitement building with each flip. Her writer's block was gone, washed away in wave of incessant creativity. With a squeal of pleasure, she threw her head back, unwashed hair cradling her thrumming mind. "Yes!" She screamed aloud and pounded her fists, crumpling her pages in the process. It didn't matter; she'd need to type it anyway. She lay back and stared up at her tiny loops and slashes; let her eyes read it again, page by page, scene by scene. Her mind was putting it to film and damn if it wasn't riveting in every sequence. A thrum of adrenalin course through her veins, made it hard to focus on the lines, made her want to move. Vanessa put the pages aside and stood on the beige material, immediately jumping upward to touch the ceiling.

Okay, so maybe it was a bit immature but she could feel the Film School scholarship in her hands for the first time since she'd gotten that invitation to submit.

It was also too small a stage to jump on. It was easy to maintain her balance when her sole focus was leaping upward. When the door lock clicked behind her, she spun unadvisingly, next jump sending her across the living room, arms flailing, ending sprawled on the Humphrey carpet.

"Vanessa?" Rufus stuck his head in the room to investigate the bang.

Vanessa scrambled to her feet, hands going to cover the slip she'd thrown over her earlier nakedness. Rufus caught sight of her attire and deliberately averted his eyes towards the kitchen. She followed his gaze with a terrified realization. Sitting on the counter was one empty bottle of scotch, two glasses. She put an awkward hand to her tangled hair, wishing she'd had a shower right after. She was sure the entire room reeked of sex, from the floor of the kitchen to her own skin

"Maybe you'd better get changed," Rufus suggested and Vanessa wished she'd taken a five minute writing break to clean up. "We'll talk after."

Vanessa closed her eyes for a moment, quietly grabbing her fiction from the side table and rushing towards the communal bathroom. She was having a shower too, a really long, cleansing, and sanitizing shower. By the time she'd remerged, sensibly dressed in a t-shirt and pair of jeans, wet hair dripped down her back, Rufus had taken a set at the kitchen bar, used glasses and bottle disappearing in the interim.

There was a free seat beside him but she didn't take it. Instead she stood much as she had the night before; letting the kitchen bar divide the two, offering her some protection from Rufus' disappointment. Her best friend's father was perched on the edge of his seat, oversized button-down cardigan closed right to his chin.

"I realize that you parents live far away," Rufus began before she was even prepared. "It's easy to think that you're an adult already."

Vanessa froze at the introduction to, was it, possibly _that talk?_

"I'm not ignorant enough to assume that you're a virgin."

Oh dear god! It was. Vanessa leaned against the refrigerator to keep from sinking into the floor. Mr. Rogers was about to give her a sex talk.

"But you should know that alcohol rarely ends in good choices."

Well, that was true.

"You don't want to end up like your mother, pregnant and single at 18."

Vanessa straightened right up. That was a definite low blow. Besides, her mother had eventually married the boyfriend anyway. By the time they'd gotten pregnant with Vanessa the entire family was legal. "Are you sure you're not angrier about losing your bottle of borboun?" She tried to lighten the mood but Rufus' eyes just narrowed further. She slunk down again and prepared herself for the rest of his lecture. He caught on the next syllable and she jumped on the opportunity. "How about you remind me to stay safe and hand me a condom," She suggested in desperation.

Rufus' face finally relaxed, signalling the end of his pseudo-father role. "If I had one."

Vanessa tried not to snort, she honestly did, but Rufus probably hadn't had sex since 2004.

"I'll buy a box," Rufus decided aloud and Vanessa froze again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He had three different thousand dollar chairs to choose from but Chuck needed to walk. He needed the motion to compliment his racing thoughts. Doctor Sherman asked him to sit more than once but he couldn't. This was the worst part. Without the comfort of alcohol he turned into some neurotic loser.

"We talked about this. I warned you that you might feel the urge to continue the discussions we were having in therapy outside of it."

"I remember," Chuck folded his arms and continued his back and forth journey across the room. "Though I thought I'd end up talking to Eric about it...or maybe," Chuck quickly mentally scanned through his friends and family, "Eric," he repeated again.

"Maybe there are reasons why you didn't pick your brother. Whatever they are you should be happy about what happened. It's a good thing," Dr. Sherman assured him. "You're making progress."

"I just told my entire life history to a fucking stranger," Chuck turned back to the doctor, incredulous disgust playing across his face. "And then I had sex with her! How is that progress?"

"From what you've told me about Vanessa, she doesn't sound like a stranger."

"Not anymore," Chuck muttered under his breath.

"You should sit down. Use some of the strategies we've discussed to work through your thinking process. You'll figure it out."

Chuck just laughed and took another circle of the room. "What? Like maybe I have an unquenchable desire to fuck all of my best friend's exes?" Chuck raked a hand through his hair. "Thank god Eric is gay. Though if Damien starts to look good then..."

"Charles," The doctor used a firmer tone this time. "Sit down." The almost paternal nature of the order cut through Chuck's rabid thoughts and he threw himself onto a chair. It didn't stop the movement, but simply contained it to where feet tapping rapidly against the carpet were his only recourse. "Use some strategies. Figure out why you did it."

"Why don't you tell me," Chuck threw back. "I'm paying you enough."

The doctor looked him square in the eye and Chuck could see the disappointment caused by his refusal. The doctor was always trying to get him to reflect, to consider his thoughts, his actions and how they were linked.

He'd try again tomorrow.

"I think you picked the safe option."

"Safe?" Both of Chuck's eyebrows rose at the idea. He settled back into the thick cotton sofa, waited for doctor to elaborate.

"You knew that she had helped Nate in the past. You could trust that she wouldn't be judgemental or dismissive."

That was true.

"And in the end, even if she was it wouldn't matter much because you don't really care about her or her opinion of you."

And that was even truer.

"So perhaps it wasn't a bad decision after all."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair peeled away the layers of herself with a scorching hot shower; the smoke and ash disappearing down the drain along with her indecision and the last remnants of her attempted reformation. When she stepped out she grabbed the thickest towel she could find, wrapping it around her slender body. She grabbed her phone from the counter, wiping the steam covered screen with a single finger.

**B has ceased her trips over the Brooklyn Bridge**.

She scrolled through her contacts until she hit the Gossip Girl tips line. With a couple further clicks she tossed the phone on the side, grabbing her moisturizer as it hit. She rubbed at the mirror to reveal a perfectly contented smirk. A couple of swipes of lotion later, she slipped into a black Channel skirt and matching pumps. The white dress shirt and crystal headband completed the look. She felt like herself for the first time in months. No more wavering, uncertainly tossed into the bin along with her half-formed notions of fairness and empathy.

This time she was going to get exactly what she wanted.

She glided down the expansive staircase, heels barely touching the floor as she entered the principal dining room. Her mother and Cyrus were sharing a late lunch, but their matching smiles proved her entrance was welcome. She gave her mother an air kiss as she passed, smiling at Cyrus as she took her own seat across the table.

"How was camping?" Cyrus asked because Blair knew her mother couldn't force the words.

"Dingy, cold and scary," Blair grabbed a yogurt from the tray. "I dumped Daniel," Blair shared a look with her mother; might as well put it out there.

"That's great!" Eleanor declared, and no matter how many times Cyrus shook his head at the side, Blair's mother didn't even try to contain her enthusiasm. She reached right across the table and gave her daughter's cold hand a reassuring squeeze. "Now we can focus on what's important. We can look to the future."

Blair arched a brow at her mother. Blair had been focussing on the important things. Her Ivy League future was already plotted. Somehow she knew that's not what Eleanor was referring to.

"The wedding is in three weeks," she reminded her daughter and Blair understood. It was always about her mother, her needs, her whims, her wants. Cyrus might have tempered it, made her mother more conciliatory and considerate but Eleanor was still a narcissist through and through. "Did you get the final fitting for your maid of honour dress?"

"Yes."

"Good!" Eleanor smiled contentedly at her fiancée, taking her hand back. "I'm having my last fitting before flying back on Friday."

"In London?"

"Yes," Eleanor stared at her daughter.

"So you decided against the dress you designed?"

"Didn't you listen to a thing I said? Amy Allen is designing for me."

"The British designer?"

"Hopefully the newest Eleanor Waldorf designer."

"I still don't understand why you're hiring other designers."

"I'm expanding," Eleanor reminded Blair. "We've been so successful since going public that I think it's time to form a creative team. All the big houses do it. And that wedding dress is the best way to court Amy."

"Are you sure it's wise?"

"Blair," Eleanor's tone turned condescending and even a well-timed cough from Cyrus didn't change it back. "I'm getting older. I already struggle to reach the younger set. It's just another way to stay relevant."

Blair speared a slice of asparagus and decided it wasn't worth voicing her opinion. Eleanor Waldorf always did exactly what Eleanor Waldorf wanted.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa couldn't help but blush. She really didn't want to, but there was something in the way he reclined on the doorframe, eyes intense but amused, unopened bottle in his hand. He needed to go before she developed a complex. "You were supposed to bring that three hours ago," Vanessa nagged, grabbing the bottle in one angry snatch.

"I need my beauty sleep," Chuck smirked "especially after heavy exertion." There was that stupid blush again. "Besides, do you think I would miss a chance to make you scramble."

"You've got to be kidding me. You did that on purpose."

"How was Rufus?"

"God you're an ass," Vanessa narrowed her eyes.

"I have a post it on my bathroom mirror that refutes that," Chuck's smirk grew as his hands found his pockets.

Vanessa gave a screech of frustration and then slammed the door in his face. It didn't help because even if most of Vanessa still believed what she said, there was still a twinkle behind her eyes that proved a small part of her held a contrary opinion.

Vanessa stalked back to her living room, slamming the unopened bottle of scotch on the counter. She swore she could still hear him laughing from beyond the locked door. He probably was laughing! The jackass! Vanessa threw herself on her thin couch, landing her crumpled curls into a very large, and very loud orange trench coat. She shut her eyes as she realized that she'd forgotten to return it. She decided to give it to a homeless shelter rather than risk meeting with Chuck Bass again. It's not like he ever wore anything twice anyway. She grabbed the thick fabric and threw it onto the floor without a second thought. The second thought only came when the photos fell from one pocket and scattered across her cheap carpeting. They caught her eye immediately. Vanessa took a deep breath and considered not looking at them.

God knows what photos one might find in his private collection.

She'd just collect them one by one and stuff them back in. That was the plan, until her eyes glimpsed the first and she recognized the familiar brunette and blonde couple, except they weren't a couple. They shouldn't have been a couple but the familiar way they were touching throughout seemed to prove the illogical conclusion.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck swirled the glass back and forth, the habitual comfort of the Palace bar lulling him back to a familiar pattern. He smiled at the girl beside him; let her speak her piece though he was truly only half listening. He was growing tired of blondes, though truthfully he'd always preferred darker shades: the jet black hair of Asians, thick brown curls of African Americans, but primarily the thick brown curls of... Chuck stared at the mirror above the bar and winced. His thoughts had conjured up her image. "Get lost," The familiar voice barked and he realized this wasn't a fantasy. The nameless blonde he'd been chatting up for a half hour nearly sprinted away in shock. Blair didn't mention it. Just took the now empty stool and waited. Chuck was tempted to touch her; just to see that she didn't disappear on contact, that she wasn't a mirage induced by far too much pot use. Blair stared him up and down, tossed her priceless purse onto the bar and let out the breath she'd been holding. "Bass," She clipped and Chuck took a sip of his drink, hiding behind the comfort it allowed.

"Blair?" The word started as a phrase but ended as a question. He snapped a finger at the bartender and within a moment a cranberry martini was placed beside his glass. Blair smiled at the familiar, fingers going to the rim, caressing it until a tiny sound emitted. "What are you doing here?"

"Maybe I just wanted a drink." She suggested even though the glass never moved from its place.

"You can have as many as you want."

"I know you heard about Dan and I."

Chuck took another protective sip. Of course he'd heard. If it hadn't been crass he'd have thrown a party in honour. Then again, when did he ever care about being crass? "I'm sorry," Chuck offered, even though he was as far from sympathetic as could be.

"I'm not," Blair admitted, eyes staring straight into his, curls as stationary as her head. The smallest smile tugged at her lips and Chuck realized that this was _that_ moment. He put his own glass aside, his fingers turning to her chin. She shivered at his touch and that's when he truly knew she was there, that she could really feel the chill of his fingertips. Her mouth formed a tiny 'o' and he could feel himself drawn in. It was a pattern of behaviour, she pulled and he drew forward, she pushed and he fell apart. He pulled and she fell forward, he pushed and she cracked to pieces.

Understanding the pattern didn't stop the allure. She leaned forward, small circle of her lips disappearing as a tongue appeared within it, licking her dry lips and then returning them to his roving eyes. He heard _kiss me_ and it wasn't until he saw the impatience in her eyes that he realized he hadn't imagined it. Those words had come from those lips.

He didn't stop kissing her until they collapsed against the cool of the Palace's main elevator; eighteenth floor alighted. It was inevitable. They were inevitable. They couldn't touch without bursting into flame. "Say it," He whispered into her hair, dragging her harder against the metal wall. She arched her back against him, forcing her hips against his, dizzying his desire to greater heights. A loud moan split the enclosed space and for a moment Chuck lost all sense of time, space and thought. The only thing driving his body was pure, unadulterated desire. The type that burned through every time she touched him. It was ironic. He was supposed to tempt her beyond all common sense. She wasn't supposed to lure him, excite him beyond anything or anyone else. He was supposed to be in control, she was supposed to be enticed to lose hers. Instead they both lost at first touch, a potent and dangerous combination. "Say it," He demanded in a single gasp. It wasn't a game. He really needed to know that this was the right choice and that now was the right time. He forced her back again, turned her eyes to face him, her lips inches from his. "Say it," He asked again, breathing the words from his lips to hers.

"Say what," She whispered back, "I'll say anything."

"Tell me that you love me," Chuck begged across the small space, he pleaded even as he felt her body tense against his. Somehow they'd progressed backward to that moment over a year before, the intervening drama and reassurances burning away to nothing, leaving them two awkward teenagers each afraid to be vulnerable, each prepared to flee to the comfortable rather than travel the unknown. But the request hung between them and for a moment Blair considered giving him the words. She'd said it twice already, felt it a thousand times more, but she just couldn't do it. The past was still the past. She couldn't hand over her last bastion of control yet again. He needed to do it first.

"This isn't about that," Blair said softly and something inside him died. He stared into her eyes and saw the unspoken terror so plainly displayed. He stepped back, turned his back on her and crossed the elevator. He reached angrily for the control board, pushing every floor number he could, not even chancing a look up to see where they were. It hurt to know her opinion of him: hurt to know some girl from Brooklyn who didn't even like him had more faith in him than the girl who had once professed to...Chuck punched at the numbers with a closed fist. Blair reached out to touch him and he pulled away on instinct, spinning to the side to keep the distance. He chanced a look back and noticed the fear was gone, but in its place was no softness, no affection. His eyes travelled up her rumpled skirt, the tailored bodice that heaved with the force of her gasps. She was so stunning, breathtaking really. But in that moment she was also so ugly, playing games that Chuck had finally tired off. She'd retreated to lies; put her words in fancy dress, her costumed disguise.

The elevator dinged and the anger he'd swallowed through the last escapade finally came rushing forth. It twisted his face, narrowed his lips, and drew his eyes together as he glared. "Don't you get it," His voice shook. "Between us, it will always be about _that_." She froze at his honesty, arm dropping back to her side. Chuck fled the moment the doors offered him reprieve, rushing out onto some unnamed floor, finding the stairs before her could hear her response. He was halfway down the fire escape before the adrenaline slowed. When it did he collapsed against the cement wall, shoulders curving with the weight of his thoughts.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Wow, that was a very long chapter. I'm going to deviate from practice and let Blair's journal start the next chapter. I think we need to hear her thoughts more than Eric's. I've been trying to stay in one POV per scene but not only is it not entirely working (see Blair's little breakthrough in the last), but it's also making Blair rather unsympathetic and/or prone to flip flopping. It's not going to last much longer this way though. Clarity is coming. I promise!_

_BTW I totally ripped a line off the Kooks so thanks to Luke :)_

_CBEBTR trory12__ – Don't worry, this is not a CV story. I do like the two of them together but I much prefer CB. I think CV could have a good story, but I think CB are epic!_

_Bradshaw-esque – I'm not going to tell you who is dying but I have made assurances in the past about certain things._

_Sky Samuelle – Blair is really not getting that her behaviour is pretty crummy. On one side I totally understand why she's working the way she is. Chuck was a total sh*t to her but that being said she's got to grow up too. At least Chuck finally gave it to her straight. As for CV, read the comment to CBEB..._

_Modernnmyth – thanks :) V definately has a purpose vis-a-vis Chuck but they're not end game._

_Ashtondene – Dan not freaking out was actually pretty important. He'd finally growing up a bit himself._

_Se1ge – thanks for the lovely comment. I hope you'll be willing to give this a look through (maybe after it's done). I don't know if I'll be writing more GG but for a good reason. I started a writing course and am currently working on original fiction._

_Doxeh – I'm glad you don't mind the alternate pairings. Every other pairing has a reason that will hopefully become clearer as the fic progresses. GRG is all about human relationships (I hope) and so it's definately totally different than the other two._

_Bluestriker – thanks :)_

_BRKOD – I really loved Rufus until 1X17/18 too. He seemed like such a good dad until Lily came alone. It's like when they're together both act like spoiled little teenagers. _

_GrantingTroyTurner – Thanks to Vanessa, the entire world is about to find out what Chuck did to his dad :)_

_Sasha – Sorry :(_

_Anyon – I take it you're not a CV shipper than. _

_Verybad4 – I hope the rest of chapter 5 ironed out a few of your fears._

_Annablake – Chuck's about to hit his first longer period of near sobriety. I'm glad to hear you're a CV shipper too. I figured I'd be stoned after the last chapter but I'm glad to hear a lot of people liked it._

_Provocative - :) At least I warned you!_

_Dystropic Entrophy – Now I'm going to have to start my epilogue with Chuck driving :)_

_Up Next – Friday's a popular day to fly. Who else is taking the all important commute? Lily and Rufus' affair is about to implode! And it's time to stake out peace talks between an unlikely duo._


	15. Chapter Six Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Six – Part One**

_February 27, 2009_

_I've never liked uncertainty. How could I? When my mother swirled like a hurricane, breaking apart more than she formed, dragging Serena and I across the world, two accessories to match her Hermes handbag. I never could set down roots: routine was traded for spur of the moment decisions. Serena emulated it, she still does. Her life churns on momentary whims and I think she's happier for it. Me, I could never be that carefree. _

_The only thing I could rely on was that my mom would screw things up and that's what I learned to prepare for. Serena never notices the cracks until things fall apart; I see each and every one form. It's hard to be an optimist when you see so much wrong. So I learned to thrive or at least survive with pessimism. After all, if you expect the worse then life can hold no disappointment._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

The doors were closed before Blair made her mind up. She could have run, thrown her arms around him and professed the words he didn't deserve. She could have but she'd never planned on being the hero. So instead she leaned against the clear glass and put a shaky finger to her lips. She had planned everything out. It didn't involve words, certainly not those words. She was supposed to kiss him, he was supposed to touch her and they were supposed to fall back into what they'd been. They were going to ignore the past to move beyond it, not bring it to the surface with intense eyes and whispered pleading.

It was confirmed. She could no longer predict his reactions; sometimes she was sure she didn't know him. He had the same confident swagger, the same concentrated gaze but it blended with something she didn't recognize, she couldn't even put to words. But ambiguity could be beautiful, like the taste of ginger ale on that tongue.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa stood outside the Humphrey loft, palms already sweaty with the task put before her. She held the replacement scotch in her hand but this visit wasn't about that. Vanessa had held onto those photos for a good four days, proof that most of her decisions were well-planned. Her first instinct had been to confess everything to Dan. She nearly did just that, but her best friend idolized the older Humphrey and for one who saw her parents through far too realistic a light, it was a hard disappointment to create. So she knocked and hoped Dan was late returning home. Of course he wasn't. He met her at the door with a hug. "I wasn't expecting you," He admitted and she cringed.

"I actually needed to speak with your dad."

"Is that Vanessa?" Rufus's voice carried from the kitchen and Vanessa clutched the scotch closer, shielding herself as she stepped into the far room and then offering it across the kitchen counter.

"You bought a new bottle?" The disbelief was evident. So was the question. How could she have afforded it?

"I didn't," She admitted.

"I see." Rufus bounced on his heels while Dan stared between the two. "Then you're going to need these for sure." He grabbed a box from under the counter and Vanessa could feel the blush even before it hit the table. Dan's gasp was enough to turn her entire face red.

"Dad!"

"You didn't tell him?"

"I don't tell him everything."

"What!"

"Vanessa had a boy over while we were away." Rufus said as he forced the condoms into her hands.

"I don't think this is his business..." Vanessa pushed back.

"Was it that guy from the coffee shop?"

"Only if he could afford to replace $300 bottle of scotch," Rufus grabbed the bottle and set it into his cupboard.

"I am not discussing this!" Vanessa crossed her arms in resolution.

"Was it Nate?" Dan asked and Vanessa could feel the hope without turning her head.

"I need to talk to your dad _privately_." She arched her eyebrow right through Dan's questions.

"You have secrets from Dan now?" Vanessa nearly rolled her eyes. Rufus was chiding her about keeping secrets. That was rich! She slid one of the photos from her pocket, tapping it slyly to the side opposite Dan's view. Once Rufus caught sight of its subject his laughter died abruptly. He stared from his son to his best friend and made a snap decision. "Could you buy some milk?" Rufus asked Dan, throwing a couple bills from his wallet. Dan gave one look between the two and then taking the money he obeyed his father's instructions. "You know he's going to grill you later," Rufus said as the door clicked.

"Hopefully I'll have nothing to say to him."

"Where did you get those?"

"That's not really the essential point," Vanessa pointed out.

"I don't know what you think those are..."

"It's a convincing conclusion. Or do I need to show you the one with your tongue down her throat." A flicker of guilt passed over Rufus' features but then he stood tall, daring her to state the obvious. He should have remembered that Vanessa never shied from a challenge. "So you're having an affair."

"It's not like that."

"You're seeing Lily."

Rufus didn't acknowledge or deny but the expression on his face made it an obvious conclusion.

"Lily is married."

"Right now, yes..."

"You just defined an affair."

"It's not like that."

"Is this a circular argument?" Vanessa scoffed. "Because if you're planning on one then let me cut right through: What you're doing to Lily's husband and their children is wrong."

"It's not _their_ children."

"_Their_ family, _their_ children."

"If you're tying to make me feel bad for Bart Bass then you might as well give up. The guy is a heartless, controlling bastard."

"That's your justification? It's pretty weak."

"It's not like that. I love Lily Van der Woodsen!"

"Lily Bass," Vanessa crossed her arms.

"You don't understand..."

"I think I understand better than you."

"There's always that one person in your life: that one love that you can never forget no matter how hard you try. The one that makes your heart skip every time they're near."

"How romantic," Vanessa pulled her arms tighter across. "But if I'm not falling for the bullshit then why is a forty year old?"

"It's not bull. I've loved Lily all my life and I know that she loves me too. She is going to leave Bart."

"She's told you this?"

"We've talked about it."

"She promised you that she's leaving Bart?"

"She's afraid. I'm just waiting for her to realize that security doesn't equate to genuine love."

Vanessa ran a hand through her hair and considered just how stupid Dan's aged father sounded. She was over twenty years younger and she could recognize just how ludicrous his conclusions were. Why couldn't he see it? "So that's it? You're just going to keep seeing her? Never mind the fact that she has a husband, her own children, and a stepchild?" Rufus stood tall and said nothing. She could see the conflict play across his face but his values weren't enough to give up on some childish fantasy of love. "I guess that's a yes," Vanessa shook her head. She was sure he had something else to say, some other excuse or explanation but she didn't care to hear it. "So much for Rufus Humphrey: man of principals." She grabbed her purse and walked right out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck lay with his head against the sofa in Nate's townhouse, thick beige carpeting creating tiny indents in his matching slacks. He pushed his head back, cradled it in the thick cushioning, familiar smoke encircling the pair. Nate passed the blunt and Chuck's hands shook despite the drugs coursing through his system, both prescription and Nate's preferred blend. The day he'd sat across from Dr Sherman and swore he didn't want to drink ever again the pills had started: the ones to stop the trembling in his body, and the others for the trembling in his head. That was four days ago, and despite the benzodiazepines, and the atenolol his hands quavered beyond his control and his thoughts still raced ahead.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Nate asked and the question might have brusque but like most of the blonde's rambles it snuck out softly between lazy lips.

"Tough week."

"What problems could you possibly have?" Nate scoffed. "The blonde and brunette both want to sleep with you at the same time?"

Chuck nearly snorted at the statement, deciding instead on taking a double drag. "You have no idea."

"Is it your dad?"

Chuck looked at the blonde, mentally awarding him points for trying. "My father has been away since," Chuck tried to weave the fact but it was just beyond his grasp, "forever."

"Oh right," Nate shook his head unsteadily and Chuck decided he'd had enough. "Is he still in Asia?"

"No, he's at the London office. He flies back Friday night."

"Really?" A bemused smile graced the blonde's lips. "My dad too."

"I didn't realize they let your dad leave the country."

"Are you kidding me? After Grant's confession my dad's the golden king. I think they're afraid he'll sue."

"I should call my dad. Maybe they could jet pool," Chuck added with a snicker.

"No need. Dad's closing this big deal with some Arab. They flew him out yesterday and they're flying him home on their private jet."

"Short trip."

"In comparison to Bart," Nate agreed and reached for across the divide. "Your dad doesn't usually travel for this long."

It was true, Bart usually travelled for a week, stayed for a week and so on forward. He didn't like to stay away, something about leaving the helm unmanaged or something. Chuck took a third drag and tried to remember when his father had been gone more than a month. He traced the years back one by one, finding no answer until he was nearly upon it. When the memory tripped his anxiety tripled, blunt forgotten in his hand, mind set afire. Sixth grade, screaming matches, accusations, smashing glass...

"Chuck!" Nate yelled and Chuck noticed a bitter smoke with the sweet. He jumped up once he felt the heat against his skin, throwing the butt to the carpet. He'd burned a hole right through his silk shirt.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Like I said," Chuck brushing at the perfectly circular burn, "It's been tough."

Nate just shook his head, stoned mind searching for the right comment. It never got the chance to form. Chuck's phone rang and the brunette lunged for it, anything to break free of the next act. When he stared at the number his brows furrowed automatically, confusion turning to amusement. He stood on instinct, walked to the bordering bathroom before answering. I knew you hadn't had enough," Chuck's voice dropped a few octaves, came smoother through the line. "How long did you scour directories to get my number?"

"I just kept calling the _for a good time _numbers until I hit the right drawl." Vanessa snapped right back.

"Does that mean you're ready for the third?" He teased in return.

"Hardly. We need to talk," She spoke in an entirely even tone and Chuck's brow furrowed again in response.

"About what?"

"I think you'd better meet me," She suggested. "The corner of Commercial and 10th, thirty minutes?"

"Intriguing," Chuck lips smirked on instinct, widening as he heard the click.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was pouring a glass of water when she heard his voice, the slow drawl instantly turning her lips to a smile. She could smell him without turning, the unique mix of polo and marijuana that could be no other. "I've been dropped," He wound his muscular arms around her "think you could entertain me."

"What were you thinking?"

"I don't know," Nate admitted. "You?"

Serena shrugged her perfectly carved shoulders, mutual smiles turning to embarrassed glitters. "What do you want?"

A crack of a DVD cover disturbed them both. Eric smiled at them and kept walking.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The street was a t-intersection and Chuck slowed to cross. A small coffee shop graced the opposite corner. It should have been familiar but it wasn't. Vanessa was sitting at the furthest table, flanked by a tall redhead talking with too much animation. Once he caught sight of Chuck, thick wool suit and yellow bowtie he scurried to one side.

"You called?"

"You came?"

"I always do."

Vanessa hid her flicker of disgust behind a sip of coffee. When he looked like he would elaborate, Vanessa spoke up. "Please stop,"

"I've never heard you say that before."

"God," Vanessa rolled her eyes so far back she swore her irises disconnected.

"I heard that one," Chuck's smirk spread.

Vanessa gave a squeal of frustration. "Are you done?"

"What?"

"Just say it; say whatever perverted thing is dangling on your lip."

Chuck couldn't help but laugh. "Why? You just sucked the fun right out of it." Then his eyes sparked again.

"Say it and I'll beat you to death with my stiletto," Vanessa threatened. "And I won't even feel guilty about it!" Chuck quickly swallowed the comment. It didn't matter much; the contented smirk said enough. "Are you done?" Vanessa asked again.

"That depends...is it a two inch heel or a three?"

"A five."

"Let's move on shall we."

"You left these with your coat at the Humphrey loft." Vanessa slid ten bundled photos across the table and Chuck instantly covered them with a hand. With the drama of the last few days he hadn't even considered his original problem or plan.

"Did you look at them?" Chuck asked the obvious.

"Yes," Vanessa's tone softened as his eyes turned away. "I'm sorry."

"Please," His voice bit back. "It's Lily!"

"Does your dad know?"

"I don't think so. They've been pretty discrete."

"I think you'd better tell him."

Chuck turned back in surprise. "Why?"

"I showed the photos to Rufus."

"You? Why?"

"Does it matter? The point is that this is more serious than even those photos show."

"What did he say?"

"I don't think it's up to us to get involved," Vanessa admitted, ignoring the fact that she'd done just that. "Simply said, it's not going to end unless your father makes it."

"Why did you do this?"

"Does it matter?"

"To me it does." Chuck bit back a smile. Aside from Eric, his friends weren't ones for selfless acts.

"Just say thank you," Vanessa prompted.

"Thank you," Chuck echoed and Vanessa stood up. "Is there anything that I can do for you?" He asked once the glow of appreciation was replaced by the dread of owing Vanessa Abrams a favour.

"Actually there is," Vanessa turned back to the table. "How about never mentioning what happened between us.'

"I figured you'd want to shout it from the mountaintops."

"God, you should bottle your ego and sell it."

Chuck laughed at the suggestion. "Don't worry," He said more seriously. "I never kiss and tell."

Vanessa leaned back, put a hand on the table. "But do you fuck and tell?" She asked, lips not even hesitating over the curse; harsher speech a part of her lexicon in a way it never could be for Serena, Blair or any of the society girls.

For some reason it entertained Chuck further. "This could the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Vanessa pushed off with her nails. "Don't push your luck," She clipped as she spun, walking easily away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You're going to tell Bart?" Eric repeated in surprise, sitting up straighter, back pulling away from the limousine's thick leather seats. The Van der Bass kids were headed for a trip over the bridge and like always Chuck and Eric were waiting on their other sibling.

"I called him already," Chuck admitted. "We're going for dinner when he gets back."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I am."

"Well," Eric kicked his feet nervously against the baseboards, head going to the window. He shouldn't have been so disturbed. He knew Bart would find out eventually, the jilted lover always did. Maybe he'd fallen for the fairy tale ending where Lily recognized the error of her ways and their family stayed in tact. Like that was possible! If she hadn't learned it the first three times when would she ever? "Where is Serena?" He stared at the pavement and tried to change the topic.

"Probably trying to find her phone."

The two sat in silence for a time, each eyeing the window, waiting for the flash of blonde and some distracting but inane conversation. "We need to tell her," Eric realized.

Chuck nodded slowly.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad." Eric said and both boys knew he wasn't talking about Serena. He shouldn't have bothered. The cheery outlook never stuck. "I mean it's not like my mom's never been confronted before and your dad is nothing if not calm."

"He's got sides," Chuck admitted, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it despite the closed confines of the car and Serena's lecture that was sure to follow. His dad had a lot of sides and not all of them were tranquil.

"As long as he'd not as bad as Claus."

Chuck raised a brow. "Claus?"

"Husband number three: he threatened to chop her body into tiny pieces, starting with...well...let's just say it'd be hard to top that one."

Chuck nodded silently. He considered discussing the other time infidelity has cut through his _perfect_ family but, well, it wasn't Eric's business to know everything. Besides, Bart had been the cheater. This was uncharted territory.

The long awaited flash of blonde put aside the need for any discussion.

Both boys might have committed to informing Serena but they were placated instead by her chatter. They let her centre the car, let her comments and gossip fill their ears and if they didn't offer much in return she didn't comment on it. Perhaps she expected it. They were headed to Damien's apartment; Chuck's nearly two months of refusals finally overturned. Eric had tried very hard, not to defend his boyfriend, but simply to broker small steps to a truce. This remaining division, as justifiable as it was, troubled him. So Chuck let himself be lulled into acceptance. Who knew how much longer they'd be a family. This might reaffirm it beyond the next day.

Or it might cut a few more of the lingering threads. The instant Chuck entered the space he regretted it. No matter how upbeat Serena attempted to be, or how accommodating Damien proved, the exchanges were decidedly cold. Within fifteen minutes the conversation had stilted and the Brit had fled to his kitchen in escape.

Chuck watched him go and no matter how hard he tried, the scowl would not leave his lips. "Will you try?" Serena whispered into his ear. Chuck's tongue went to his cheek, eyes narrowing at the thought. He didn't want to try. He didn't want to be here. He was still waiting for this little reconciliation to fizzle out. Then he caught sight of his brother's hopeful expression and feet were halfway to the kitchen before he could really consider.

Damien was hunched over, hands fumbling through the cupboards. He was a year older than Chuck but the lanky figure was half his size. He wore a tank top to Chuck's button up dress shirt, jeans to Chuck's slacks. In dress they were opposite but in demeanour there were similarities. That was the problem. If Chuck had been presented the same choice as Damien, he probably would have chosen the same. He couldn't really hate him for it. So he decided to focus on the exterior. Damien had a tattoo that stretched from one shoulder blade to the other. It wasn't the only tattoo he had, but the sheer size attracted all attention to it.

"You getting excited for the opening," Chuck grabbed blindly at the first topic he could.

Damien stared up at Chuck, pulling a silver bowl and placing it on the counter. "I know you're probably never going to like me," Damien cut through the small talk. "I don't blame you. I'd feel the same."

_I'm glad we're in agreement _was on Chuck's lips but he held back. He considered Eric and how much this would mean to him. "I like your tattoo," Chuck offered.

"This?" Damien turned his wrist to show a circular Celtic symbol.

"No, the one on your back. The eagle wings."

"Oh," Damien muttered noncommittally and then turned back to the serving bowl. He poured chips and Chuck stared at the dark walls, inhaled the familiar stench of stale cigarette smoke. At least he could say he tried. Then Damien pushed the snacks aside and leaned against the counter. "They're actually angel wings. Everyone thinks they're eagle wings but they're not."

"You have angel wings on your back?" Chuck tried not to laugh at the older boy but it was hard.

"See why I let people believe they're eagle wings?"

"You must have liked it at the time."

"I was sixteen years old," Damien admitted. "I thought it was brilliant."

Chuck couldn't help but laugh. "So why not get it removed? From what I've heard, your family has the money."

"Because it means something to me," Damien said and then immediately opened the fridge, grabbing several cans of pop and adding them to the tray.

"What does it mean?" Chuck asked even though the Brit's body language showed it wasn't a question he wanted asked. Damien hesitated, Chuck's curiosity growing with every pause and rearrangement. There was something one never did and that was dangling a mystery in front of Chuck Bass.

"I'll tell you once," Damien agreed, guarded neutrality in his eyes. "Just once."

Chuck leaned against the counter, hands pressed to either side.

"I used to live with my brother Tom when I was on break from Eaton."

"He was the one..."

"You met last year." Damien didn't need to elaborate. Chuck remembered the skinny, drugged out Tom Allenby. "It wasn't a good scene. My brother'd progressed through the soft stuff while I was in middle school. He was already on the soul stealing shit by the time I hit Eaton."

"And your parents let you live there?"

Damien shrugged his shoulders. "It's hard to explain. You'd have to understand our family dynamic."

Chuck let that tangent drop, he knew enough about those kinds of dynamics.

"He overdosed right in front of me," Damien admitted. "I was sixteen and it wasn't his first time, I think it was the second or maybe even the third. My dad made him keep adrenalin in the apartment. We had enough money for that you see. We had too much money in general. I couldn't do it though. The paramedic was on the phone with me, trying to explain how to jab him but I couldn't do it."

"I probably wouldn't..."

"I was too fucked up. I couldn't figure it out. I had to knock on the neighbour's door, some forty year old immigrant who didn't speak a word of English. The next day I decided I was going to be his guardian angel."

"That's..."

"Ironic," Damien interrupted again. "Two years later he OD'd in front of me again. I'd been clean for as long and I still couldn't do it. The paramedic did it that time. Some guardian angel I turned out to be."

"You can't blame yourself..."

"I don't," Damien said straight back, grabbing the chips with one hand and two cans with the other, leaving the rest as he fled the kitchen and signalled the conversation closed. Chuck took them in hand, weaved the small space to the living room and joined the rest of his family. Serena and Eric were hunched over one cell, faces ashen white.

"What's wrong?" Chuck asked automatically.

"I think you'd better turn the news on," Eric explained.

Damien did as told, flipping channels until Serena yelled at him to stop. There, spread across the evening news, was the most disturbing caption Chuck Bass had ever read.

_**Jet explodes shortly after takeoff from Biggin Hill airport.**_

He could hear the announcers voice carry through his thoughts but his eyes were fixated on the screen.

"A private jet exploded shortly off take off from Biggin Hill airport nearly London, England. It's destination, Teterboro, New Jersey."

Chuck studied every inch of the plane as the video scrolled. It jumped and fell with the amateur videographer, too far away to distinguish any but the smallest details. It was the same size as the Bass jet, painted the same shade of dark blue.

"No names are being released pending notification of next of kin but NBC has learned that the passenger list includes the head of one of New York's principal families."

Chuck's eyes examined the plane's steady accent, waiting, waiting, and waiting and then it happened: It exploded in a blast of light and sound, smoke spreading across the already grey skies, bang reverberating from the screen to somewhere deep inside.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So definitely a transitional half-chapter but a good chance to catch your breath before the coming drama._

_CBEBTR trory12 – This is definately not a CV story. They shall never be more than friends again :)_

_Annablake – thanks for the wonderful review. I'm glad you enjoyed the CV. _

_MidnightSky XO – I tried to put a tiny bit of Nate/Serena in just for you :) ... and ERIC IS AMAZING! (hehe)_

_:D – I had a lot of fun writing that Vanessa-Rufus chat in the last chapter. Poor Vanessa!_

_Doxeh – Yeah, Chuck has grown up a lot since the TH days. By the end of GRG he will be a fully functional member of society (scary huh)_

_Bradshaw-esque – feel free to like Vanessa. You can always decide on other things later :)_

_Provocative – thanks :) Hopefully you'll enjoy the next bit too._

_Bluestriker – the only real CV in this story is friendship based (with constant ribbing)._

_BRKOD – Yeah, Lily and Rufus are really being selfish, self-centred, irresponsible jerks in this story. I'm finding that I don't have it in me to really try to redeem them but i'm sure it'll sneak in sooner or later._

_Chairforever – I think CV would definately help Chuck to grow up but their values are too different to be together successfully and so I chose not to go there._

_Ale - :(_

_Modernnmyth – Did I mislead you? The peace talks were between Chuck & Dam._

_Up Next – Someone has died but who is it and what's the fallout?_


	16. Chapter Six Part Two

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Six – Part Two**

"Give me my phone," the command shattered the temporary silence. "Phone," Chuck shouted louder and Eric jumped to his feet. Chuck took it without a look, had the five pressed before anyone emerged from their shock enough to comment. He watched as the number dialled and wondered through the momentary pause. What message would he get if the phone no longer existed? An error message? An empty silence? When his father's voicemail picked up Chuck hoped that wasn't his answer. "Dad, you need to call me now," His shaking voice matched the fingers that placed cell delicately to the glass table. Chuck stared at the tiny screen, waiting for it to flash in answer. It didn't. The silence taunted him, made him hear the creaks of furniture and rustling of clothing. He finally glanced up, his eyes betraying him while the rest stayed still. Damien sat the on the arm of the room's sofa, fingers intertwined through his boyfriend's. Eric matched the gesture with an arm slung around his sister's shoulders. All eyes were on him and the realization made him turn back to the phone and the wordless battle for control. He could hear Serena move, could smell her perfume before he felt her arm. She'd left the other two to sit beside him, to extend their comfort. The moment he felt her hand over his, Chuck was to his feet. Grabbing his phone from the table he stepped clear over it. He had the bathroom door locked before the redial connected. When the voicemail clicked again Chuck slid to the floor. He felt light-headed but ignored the sensation. He dialled again, fingers starting a ritual that wouldn't stop until he had his answer.

Chuck had fixated on the wrong thing. In trying to save his new family he had forgotten his only family. Bart was the only parent he had left; Lily failing not only the marriage but never coming close to taking the place of his mother. It left him on a precipice: too old to be an orphan, but too young to be parentless. He dropped the platinum cell to the bathroom floor, laid his legs out straight and closed his eyes. And then the phone rang. Chuck took it in his hand, and said the most specific, most honest, and most genuine prayer to have ever crossed his lips.

_Please don't leave me all alone._

His eyes were only half open when the tears started, relief washing his brown eyes to spun gold. "Dad!"

"Chuck," His father's greeting was far less enthusiastic. "Now is _really _not a good time; we've been stuck on the runway for nearly an hour."

"There was an accident," Chuck admitted, a very pronounced sob cutting through the middle.

"Accident?" Bart's voice turned at the thought. He heard his father bark at the assistant, insist on a confirmed time for takeoff.

"No, not here" Chuck took a deep breath to calmed his jumping nerves. "Out of Briggin Hill."

"Yeah, the control tower informed us. The entire airport is crawling with emergency services."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Some kind of mechanical error?"

"A private jet exploded en route to Teterborough." Chuck explained and the instant he said it all conversation ceased. His father was not a man who was easily overcome but even Bart Bass had to consider mortality in such a moment; had to realize that Chuck's tears were in fact for him. Chuck listened to the other Bass breathe and waited for the reassurance to calm him. The odd thing is that it didn't. His chest wasn't expanding fully; his thoughts weren't slowing to a steady crawl. He didn't realize why until his father asked the question.

"They haven't said who it is?"

"It's a prominent New Yorker. They're not saying more."

"I should call Lily."

"Can you find out who it was?"

"They don't release information like that."

"You're good at getting the stuff others won't say," Chuck reminded his father.

"Chuck..."

"Nate's dad was flying out of London today," Chuck explained, his father's tone changing at the admission.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Chuck whispered sincerely.

"I guess we're going to miss our dinner." Bart muttered and Chuck nodded even though his father couldn't see across the airways. "I'd better call Lily."

"I love you dad," Chuck professed on the spur, lips forming the words when he'd intended his regular goodbye.

"I love you too son."

Chuck splashed some cold water on his face before he opened the door, let it cool his eyes and melt away the shades of red. He stared into the mirror and realized it was still obvious he'd been crying. He wet a cloth and pressed it to his lids, waited for the swelling to disappear. It wouldn't. He took another deep breath and threw the towel to the counter. He gave himself permission to be weak.

Serena was in his arms the moment the door opened, her thwarted hand holding traded for a fierce bear hug. He stood straight at first, despite the beautiful woman in his arms he was at a loss. He didn't quite know where to put his hands but as the moment dragged he settled for her waist. "It wasn't him," He whispered into her ear and she crushed him further, squealing in his ear and ruining what was left of his Armani suit. "Don't celebrate yet," Chuck whispered further. "I think we'd better call Nate."

"Nate?" Serena dipped back, staring in confusion.

"His dad was flying today," Chuck reminded his sister and the blood drained from her face for a second time. This time he let her fumble for the phone, let her push buttons on instinct.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The house was unnaturally silent, not even tears had cracked through yet. It was the in between state, a time of stillness, and something that could have been tranquillity if it wasn't its antithesis. It could have been rest if the room wasn't spinning, lying down the only thing that to slow the disequilibrium. Shoes were tossed to one side of the bed, hair hanging half in the face, hiding eyes that were once beautiful but now vacant.

The ringing phone was like a shriek through deafness: the tiny button on the right was the relief. Why answer the phone? They'd already gotten _that_ call.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Even Eric had called Nate a half dozen times before Chuck stepped to the kitchen. They'd called everyone they could think of, stalked the blonde through his regular haunts but there was no sign of the Archibald boy. Chuck grabbed another bottle of water from the refrigerator, leaning the last of his strength against it. His nerves were shot through to the last. The original rushes of fear had been replaced by unease, a slow but steady thrum of disquiet. Eric had been the voice of reason to the quartet, swearing that coincidence couldn't allow such a twist of fate. It hadn't calmed him in the slightest.

Then his phone rang with a flash of Bart Bass. The rest stopped dialling as Chuck answered. They listened to Chuck address his father, silence again falling over the grouping.

"You found out who the plane was registered to? The company..." Chuck repeated his father's words. All except the last bit of information, the name they were all waiting for. He had intended to but it hung on his tongue, the rollercoaster of his thoughts taking a turn straight downward. All the blood drained from Chuck's already pale face, then rushed back with twice the force, hand on his jacket before anyone could question him.

He very literally ran from the room, feet halfway down the apartment's main stairwell before another of the Van der Basses could reach the front door. They were left to exchange shocked glances and add another name to their dialling list.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stepped from the lift into nothingness. The flowers were still perfectly ordered on the receiving table, white lilies that didn't know to droop to match the mood. The stairwell still stretched to forbidden space, the gold and wood still gleamed. The differences were in the absences; no smiling Dorota to take his coat, no selection of classical music to set a mood, nothing at all. Chuck eyed the stairs and contemplated running right up them, his legs were itching to move, to pass the last barrier to her. Then he heard footsteps and turned expectantly. Dorota emerged from the kitchen much more slowly than was her usual manner. She eyed him, her initial anxiety bleeding away with a sharp nod of approval. "Miss Blair is upstairs," Dorota provided and based on how awkwardly it was said, how uncomfortable the maid appeared Chuck already knew what he'd find.

He took the stairs by twos, entered the blue bedroom, the epicentre of the only chaos in the house: where pillows littered the floor, closet doors hung open and drawers half pulled. It wasn't destroyed, hardly a mess but it was disturbing in context. Blair's space was always perfectly ordered. Chuck eyed the small room to the right. He already knew where it's where she'd be but it was another thing to see that realization put to fact. His feet slowed for the first time in his mad dash to her here. He crossed the threshold with trepidation, his push of adrenalin slowing, bringing as its replacement fear. How would he be received?

Once he caught sight of her it didn't matter. Blair was as far from glorious as could be, sitting helplessly on the bathroom floor, knees crossed beneath her. Her bouncing curls hung in straight clumps, her doe eyes shot through with blood. Chuck's stomach churned at the proof of what Georgina had sworn. He had once tried to confront her once but the accusation had stuck to his lips. He would never have judged her then and he wouldn't now. How could he? Blair was slow to turn his way, head heavy and eyes sluggish to meet his. When they did she looked immediately away, ashen cheeks recovering enough colour to blush. She didn't look back, even when her embarrassment dissolved with his lack of surprise. He had no words. He had nothing at all. So he sat wordlessly beside her, crossed his legs and almost, but didn't quite let them touch. He caught sight of the blood that soiled one of Eleanor's pristine white towels. It tripled the stakes.

"You already know," Blair vocalized the obvious. She might have been talking about Eleanor but most likely not.

Chuck never answered her question outright. He simply closed the last millimetre of space, let his knee brush hers. When she didn't recoil in disgust he added his hand, touching her legs with feather lightness. She barely shifted her eyes to stare at it and he prepared to withdraw. Then she did an extraordinary thing. She brought a pale hand to it, intertwined her fingers with his and let them rest together. She was cold to the touch and he brought his other hand to cup hers, tried to transfer some of his warmth to her. Her tiny hand disappeared, fitting perfectly in the hollow of his. "Blair," he started but she shook her head to chase the words away. Her eyes were already filling and he abandoned her hand for her cheek, fingertips chasing each tear before they could soil her cheek. The tears turned from a tiny stream to a steady torrent and he abandoned his mission, pulled her close enough that his shirt dried her tears as they fell. He ran his fingers along her back, tiny touches to relax her anguish to grief.

She let everything free, burying her face so deep that Chuck could feel the sobs before they crossed her lips. He felt every build up of pressure through her side, up her throat before it broke from her body. She never pulled away; Chuck didn't mind drowning in a bed of rose. Once her breathing calmed to match his, Chuck leaned back just far enough to allow her escape. She didn't flee and no matter how inappropriate it was; Chuck felt joy. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead; let his face rest against hers, let his breath tickle her closed eyes. "Chuck," She tried and this time he shushed her, stepping aside to grab a washcloth. Wetting it under warm water, Chuck used it to wash away evidence of her failure. She let him. She didn't have it in her to not. He studied every inch of her face as he cleaned it: noted the paleness in her cheeks, her sunken lids and the slightest greying of her usually pink skin. He searched to level their emergency. "There's blood."

"It's not the first time," Blair tried to play down the situation, minimize her own fears.

"I'm sorry," Chuck offered the words that probably should have been first. Blair didn't say a thing back but he'd never expected her to. Instead he relooped his arms through hers, calmed when she didn't pull back. She let her head fall under his, cushioned her chin with his shoulder and buried his face again into the scent of rose. His stomach flipped to have her so close. "I'd like to take you to the hospital."

"I don't want to," Blair whispered back and the butterflies were chased away by fear. "I just want you to take me out of here." Chuck nodded his head, chin butting softly into her hair. He stepped up and offered his hand. Her legs started to buckle as she stood halfway, his arm around her waist on instinct. He met her eyes and saw the fear there. He almost asked about the hospital again but knew to do so would spark nothing but a feud. The idea would fester and she would agree in her own time.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Should we go too?" Serena asked her brother as the news continued to play behind them. There was new video, eye witness accounts but no name. According to the newscaster the information wouldn't come for some time: the family was deliberately delaying the truth.

"Probably," Eric agreed as he tried his brother for the hundredth time. Damien forced a bottle of water into his hand when the voicemail collected his call.

Then Serena screeched her boyfriend's name and all plans were forgotten. "Why weren't you picking up the phone?" She demanded. "Lacrosse?" Serena raked a hand through her blonde curls. "I forgot. Did you hear about the plane crash?"

His answer brought a huge breath of relief spread that spread through the entire room

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck felt odd to sit on her bed after such a long time, to feel her slight body against his despite everything that had gone between. It was strange to hold her full clothed, to feel the tears when she was usually so strong. But there was something in that moment that renewed him. Blair had been his rock and it repaired his heart to do as much for her.

"I was doing so well," Blair swore as she pulled back to stare at him. He knew she was battling her own embarrassment. He knew so much now. When had he acquired his knowledge of her? She touched a finger to her lips, the tiniest bite mark visible in their natural state. "Despite everything." _Despite him_. "I was getting better."

"It's difficult."

"I can do so well for five or six days," She explained. "Then it's like I'm possessed," she turned her eyes back down. "There's this little voice that won't stop talking. It's okay. Just once won't hurt you. You can try harder tomorrow."

Chuck nearly swallowed his response, his own voice urging him to stay silent because once the words were out they were impossible to take back. His struggle would no longer be a private one. Measured against the defeat in Blair eyes there was little contest. He just couldn't let Blair's words drop unanswered, couldn't let her believe she was either alone or senseless. "I understand."

"You really do don't you?" Blair brought her eyes back up, puzzle pieces fitting together at last.

Chuck nodded, forced himself to talk through the growing panic. "I've been trying to stop drinking for a while now." The smile that split her tear-stained face ought to have relaxed him. It didn't. But her words started him on that path.

"I'm ready to go to the hospital."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Chuck," Serena yelled through the family suite, her voice the only one greeting in echo. She shrugged her shoulders at Eric. They'd given up on calling Chuck, knowing better than most that the phone could ring a thousand times unanswered.

"Mom," Eric yelled instead, waiting for the last blonde head to fill the family portrait. His own voice echoed instead.

"Movie?" Serena suggested. "Nate will be over in a half hour."

"Mom!" Eric yelled again.

"She's probably out," Serena flopped on the couch.

"She didn't tell us she had plans."

"Did you expect her to?"

The only blonde to appear was the front of house servant. "Mrs. Bass has gone out for the evening," She explained and Eric caught the nervousness immediately. "She will be late," The maid delivered the speech in broken segments and Eric crossed his arms on instinct.

"Where did she go?" He snapped.

"Eric!" Serena tried to correct his tone.

"Mrs. Bass wasn't specific."

"Was she alone?" Eric's voice dropped instead.

"Eric! It's not like Hilda would..."

"Alone or not?"

"Mrs. Bass was not alone."

"Man or woman?"

"Eric, what wrong with you?" Serena shook her head at the inquisition.

"Man," The servant provided with a wince and Eric realized he didn't need the specifics. Serena's interventions stopped with the single syllable.

"Eric. Is mom having..." She started then stopped as Eric's curse cut the air.

"Fucking bitch!" He screamed and the other two froze to see the unaffected son so affected. His mother was shameless. Her husband could have died five hours ago. Then again, that might have bettered the rendezvous. Eric snatched his jacket back from the arm of the couch, stalking back out towards the night air.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair had never seen Chuck so purposeful, so calm as when he talked to the doctor. He listened to the words he couldn't understand and then, with a controlled respect she had never seen, politely asked the doctor to explain again, to use common terms, to use charts until Chuck understood exactly what was wrong with her. She had never seen him so sensitive or compassionate as when he took her hand after, covered it with hers and assured her she'd be fine. She already knew it. She probably understood the doctor before Chuck did. She'd paid attention even when the explanation wasn't pretty. When they mentioned that they were keeping her overnight, not because the situation was serious but because it could be if she returned home and worked her way through the other half of the refrigerator.

It was probably the right choice.

"Will you stay?" Blair asked. She didn't need him to, she wasn't afraid of the hospital. She was more afraid that this new Chuck would dissolve the instant he turned to leave. But then he smiled and it was easy to believe that it was here to stay. He slipped his hand through hers and she pulled him closer. The chair was too far a distance; five fingers not enough to settle her nerves.

Her body was tiny in the hospital bed, leaving more than enough room for Chuck to lie beside her. She bundled down under the blankets; Chuck lay on top of them, fingers breeching the slight barrier. She pressed her face back to his chin, the mixture of cigarettes and citrus one she could grow to love. She could feel his fingers thread carefully through her hair, brush against her temples and the sides of her face. She was lulled to sleep as much by his caring caress as the drugs they'd given to help calm her.

"Blair?" The voice intruded on her sleep and she shifted but could not escape the weight pressing down on her. She opened her eyes slowly, hair on Chuck's arm tickling her smoother one. Despite the noises of the hospital, the bustle of people and scent of bleach she was comforted. She was home. "Blair?" The voice called again and she realized it wasn't Chuck's. He was still snoring peacefully against her, face transformed again to that boy. She moved to look past him and he stirred.

At the foot of her bed was her mother's fiancée, slacks obviously slept in and eyes a matching red. "Cyrus," She sat up straight and Chuck curled away for the first time that night, landing with a thud on the floor. He cursed the neon lights and Cyrus raised a brow at the stranger.

"I just got in," The older man admitted and Blair pulled at her gown. "Dorota told me you were here." Chuck ran a hand through his hair as he stood, back twisting out of sync with his body. Cyrus took in the boy's entire appearance, from rumpled shirt to dark lines. "This is?" He prompted when no greetings were forthcoming.

"Chuck Bass," He put a hand for the older man to shake.

"So this is the infamous Bass," Cyrus met his would have been stepdaughters eyes, the smallest twinkle playing despite the days events.

"I'm sorry for you loss."

The twinkle died and Chuck brushed the wrinkles from his pants. "If I could have some time with my...with Blair."

"Of course," Chuck nodded his agreement and turned back to the subject. Now he didn't know what to do. It had been simple when it had been just the two, but now he wasn't sure if he was supposed to kiss her, hug her or just walk right out.

"Come back in the morning?" She asked and it broke his unease. Chuck leaned forward, giving her one last squeeze and her forehead a final kiss. "Promise me," Blair whispered into his ear and he shook as he pulled back.

"I promise."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Well I hadn't planned on letting you hang on the cliff for that long but had other ideas. I'm surprised how many people thought it was Bart. I had promised more than once that Bart would survive this tale :) I like him too much to kill off. Never did like Eleanor all that much (she had her moments). I'll post the next chapter on Thursday night (at least this down time allowed me to get 1 1/2 chapters ahead)_

_Midnight Sky – Alas, there will have to be another resolution to the B-L-R triangle. I actually hated how they resolved it on the show. They could have just got a divorce :( They didn't need to kill Bart!_

_Sortofepic – Thanks :)_

_CBEBTR trory12 – I'm glad you are starting to almost, nearly, kind of sympathizes with Damien and Vanessa. I love them both :)_

_chairbuck12 – I hated them killing him on the show too_

_Doxeh – Wasn't the Captain either. Nope, it was Eleanor on her newly purchased Eleanor Waldorf Designs jet._

_anyon – Thanks (I think)_

_Annablake - Chuck and Blair both need to shift a bit. Eleanor's death is going to be the precipice for Blair. As for the benzodiazepines, they're often prescribed to help with the withdrawal from alcohol and prevent certain, potentially dangerous side effects. That being said, because they are potentially lethal when mixed with alcohol they create their own threat._

_puresimplicity XO – I'm glad you're warming to the VC dynamic. As for their fling coming between CB. It's not going to happen so rest easier on that fact. Chuck and Blair have more serious issues to work through than who he had a one night stand with. As for Bart. I never liked when he died on the show and so would never do it in my fanfic._

_BlackLace – I can see the opinion on Vanessa. She is not quite as judgemental as Dan but she definitely has her moments too. For the original fic, I'm actually taking a writing course right now (just started a couple weeks back). I'll see if it helps my writing at all._

_IngridMarie - Yeah! A new reader!!! thanks for the wonderful review. I hate Lily a bit too :)_

_Up Next – Promises are made to be broken but who is breaking theirs and who is holding on?_


	17. Chapter Six Part Three

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Six – Part Three**

The light was dawning through his curtains, drawing patterns of white on his darker walls, giving his eyes something to focus on in the moment. He'd been lying there for hours, body too unsteady to sleep, mind too exhausted to defeat the tremors without. So he studied the arching lines, the tiny hoops that formed and shifted with his curtains. Chuck Bass was used to sleeplessness nights; they had once been the norm. Except those sleepless nights were caused by too much liquor, too many willing women and an irrepressible desire to take from the night every experience it offered. These new sleepless nights were different. His mind wouldn't rest, the emotions he'd long pretended not to have taking centre stage even above life's necessities. If Sherman was here, the doctor would assure him that it was progress. Every emotion was a building block to the life he wanted. It didn't feel like that. It wasn't even the bad emotions; he'd lived with those long enough. It was emotions in general. Nothing was comfortably grey, everything was highs and lows. He was no longer numb but he missed it. It was a lot harder to live this way. Even the happiest of moments was disconcerting, too jarring when he was used to perpetual stillness.

And this day was the worst of all. He had experienced everything, from the ecstatic highs to the deepest lows, euphoric happiness to unquenchable dread. He had felt it all. He felt like the string of a yo-yo: tangled, wrapt tighter and tangled further, stretched beyond its strength, broken in parts, fundamentally useless. The problem was that he'd always been that way, but he'd played at the tangled pieces to distract from the broken. Now the tangles were smoothed straight but the breaks remained, and without the distraction of the first the second was glaringly clear. The bottle of scotch was calling to him and he wanted to not understand why. The claws of his obsession has retracted somewhere around the fifth day, a sense of accomplishment dawning with the seventh. Chuck stared at his watch. He was now eight days, thirteen hours and fifty-five minutes sober. The instant he read the time he knew the reason: he was marking the full length of this accomplishment. Chuck didn't have the energy for excuses, for the little justifications that melded in defence. He didn't care enough to make them.

He wasn't ready. Other people's strength might be in numbers but his was secrecy; a safe place where his every failure wasn't painted for the public's consumption. He'd always played at not caring about other's opinions, but he had. His father had taught him that he was more inclined to fail than succeed. He learned to hide those things he truly cared about, to put all the things he didn't care for on display. To make his meaningful accomplishments in private, his public crashes washing off without a second thought. Chuck Bass couldn't handle judgement and he'd known it when he said the words but he just couldn't stop himself. His love for Blair breaking down his common sense and the protective cocoon where he'd hid.

_It was just one drink_ he might have sworn to himself but he wasn't stupid: destructive to a fault but in full possession of his sense. He knew exactly where this road led. He could already see her doe eyes painted over with disappointment, her disillusionment creating both this moment and its own fruition.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric knew he'd find his mother seated amongst the vegetation. He'd already run to the Humphrey loft, made demands that had confused everyone but the father. He'd stepped out of the apartment, whispered to Eric least his family find out what the Van der Basses already knew. Eric nearly shouted in return; almost let the rest of Humphreys know their father was a scoundrel. If he hadn't been bound by some remnants of friendship with his children Eric would have shouted it from the rooftop. Instead he slunk back into the night, set his steps back to the richer side of the river. He'd come here. Lily had an affinity for the small garden beside their first house, the town home they'd shared with Eric's biological father. He'd once taken it to mean Lily missed that entire life. That she felt an urge for the first family, the only one who had lasted nearly a decade.

Maybe she'd always missed her first; just not Benjamin Van der Woodsen.

Lily sat motionless on the largest metal bench, designer shoes pressed beneath her, eyes fixed on the small water feature. It was a carving of Aphrodite, body washed by a slow trickle of water, placement entirely cliché.

"Mom," Eric called through the darkness and Lily turned on instinct. She'd been crying; the remnants of her tears washing her own face in a salted sheen.

"Eric," She turned back to the steady dribble.

"You need to come home."

"Later," Lily agreed.

"Your family needs you now."

Lily brushed the dirt from her pantyhose, short skirt displaying legs as taunt as twenty years prior.

"You need to stop your affair."

Lily should have flinched but she didn't. "It's already over. Rufus won't see me again if I don't leave your stepfather. It's against his values," Lily pushed the hair from her face and Eric wondered if his mother had any left. How could she? She was crying for her mistress, her husband halfway over the Atlantic.

"I'm glad to hear it," Eric challenged her, not the slightest sympathy in his voice.

"No you don't understand; Rufus really was _the one._ I don't think I would have run away so many other times if I hadn't the first. All the pushing and pulling, the broken hearts and failed relationships but he's the only one that really mattered. He's the only one I still think of, always have."

Eric wanted to believe her, he truly did. It was a beautiful speech, all emotion and wistfulness and if he hadn't heard in many other forms he might have believed the sincerity. If he hadn't watched her chase a new dream before the ink was dry on the current. If she hadn't seen her tire of marriage like a toddler tired of a toy then he might have truly listened. He might have discovered the truth. As it was he was hurt and he was tired of too many beginnings and too few endings. "I don't believe you. You might believe yourself but I trust history."

Lily wiped her eyes clear.

"I'm tired of being dragged from one temporary family to another. I'm sick of forcing smiles for wedding photographs while every single one of our friends is discretely rolling their eyes. I'm done with it all. It's about time you stopped living for your own whims and started putting your children first."

"Eric," Lily put a hand to his arm. "You don't understand..."

"I understand that you finally picked a family that I wanted to be a part of. I have a brother that I love and a father who actually sees me, not as your attachment, but as a real person. I have forgiven you for endless string of could have been families but if you steal this dream away then I am done."

Lily stole her hand back, pushed her back into the bench and let every of his words sink somewhere deep inside.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck's eyes were on the clock when it flashed to noon. He tried to distract himself, to put his eyes to any task but they betrayed him. They sought out every minute, wanted every tick to register in his intoxicated mind, every second of his failure preserved in vivid picture. And this failure was so much worse than any other. In the steady progression of screw ups that was his life, this was the worst thing he had ever done. What was wrong with him? What defect did he have that even love could not overcome? How could he leave her alone? Let his promise fall to nothing, knowing she was waiting for him, knowing that she again trusted him enough to ask. He had let her cling to him. He had been all hope and affection, each temporarily covering the eminent doom, the truth that he could only ever drag her further down.

So he took another sip, trying to purify the parts that would always be black.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair tried to sleep but the hospital bed was too big without him. She tried to write, to read, to eat her partitioned meals but her eyes kept straying to the clock. At 10:30 she turned the face away, at 10:45 it was back to right. At 11:00 she nearly asked the nurse to remove it. The request was on her tongue as the tiny attendant took her blood pressure and measured her heart rate. The nurse left the room and the only thing Blair had lost was another fifteen minutes. Then she heard the footprints, heavy like a man's would be. She tried not to get her hopes up but the beating insects inside her stomach wouldn't play dead. Not until the man stepped in, all blonde hair and three inches taller than Chuck could ever hope to be. Then they died on instinct.

"Nate?" Blair arched her eyes in disbelief. Evidently the story was out but who would have thought an Archibald would be the first to digest it. Another blonde head appeared behind the first, curls mingling with an enormous floral arrangement. Serena struggled to move it through the door, balloons crisscrossing and tangling on the arch. That was so much more believable.

Nate almost said something but once he saw the tiny tube hooked up to Blair's arm he went pale and stepped aside instead. It was probably a good choice. Serena rushed once the balloons were free, smashing several into the side of her boyfriend's head. She put the garish adornment on the nearest table and charged again at her friend, arms around Blair before either could speak. "Why didn't you call me?" She demanded.

"Didn't feel like it," Blair stared at the hospital sheets.

"I'm so sorry Blair," Serena started and even though it was only the third sorry since the day before it was already too many. "Dorota told us you were here and we came right away."

"Yeah...well..."

"Why are you here?" Nate asked with another look at the IV line.

"It's nothing," Blair assured them all. "Just the shock of it."

"Blair..." Serena started again and the brunette could hear the sympathetic speech before it started.

"Please don't," She cut it off. "How did you find out?" She asked instead, hoping that Chuck had done one thing right.

"It was on the news. Eric actually saw it first. He's..."

"Fetching contraband," The youngest entered the room with eyebrows waggling. He pressed a cup of imported coffee into Blair's hands. "Black, right?"

Blair nodded and took a sip of the liquid. It spread its warmth but that warmth brought no comfort. "I guess everyone knows then."

"Yeah," Serena admitted. "Lily was going to come too but she thought it'd be better if she waited. Bart's going to be home soon. They might come together later..." The blonde was talking so fast that her words blended together.

"Chuck?" She asked and once she saw their faces she knew. The looks were enough to discount the last fifteen minutes. There wouldn't be a last minute miracle.

"He's indisposed," Eric admitted with stoic tact.

"Don't worry," Blair took a sip and lied. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck lay in the tub, head cradled in his hands, ice cold shower water both punishing and erasing the last remnants of night. Outside it was dinnertime, inside that room it felt like the crack of dawn. His head hung too heavy for his body, his muscles aching from something other than the cold. It was getting harder to erase a drunken night. Once his body had been fed on alcohol, had accepted it as a baby would milk. Now, as the toxins slowly left his body they left it cleaner. It was getting harder to pollute it and still function.

Chuck hit his head against the porcelain wall, tried to erase the pounding within by creating a new pain outside. For a split second it worked, and then the shot of pain dulled under the steady thrum. He closed his eyes and let the water rain down on his face, washing away the scent of scotch from every line. Chuck kicked at the tap with his foot, kicked and kicked until the water stopped. He forced his legs underneath, pulled his body weight to stand. Outside the shower was a platinum clock and he read the time. It was nearly dinner.

He was hours past his second chance.

He carefully unfolded the suit that sat on the counter. He was not a man of his word, but he was a man who'd die by the words of others. He was going to tell his father about Lily. If he was undecided in the beginning, yesterday's events had changed everything and reminded him who he needed to value. Bart was waiting for him in the main parlour, dinner booked for two. Chuck could have cancelled but he'd failed enough for one day. So he took another pill, pretended that it calmed his still raw nerves and made sure his bowtie was perfectly straight.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"We win again," Serena bounced on the bed, sending backgammon chips in every direction. Blair had been discharged shortly after lunch, been transported back to her home in the Bass limousine. The change in venue hadn't split her circle. Nate, Eric and Serena had returned with her, ordered her to lie down and then proceeded to provide the entertainment. They'd watched movies, played games and engaged in general silliness with one express purpose: to make Blair forget everything, to make her laugh away her troubles.

It worked, the chips flipped across the designer sheets and Blair found her laughter mingling with her best friend's. "Let's play again," Serena insisted.

"Isn't that enough?" Eric begged.

"Bitter about losing twelve in a row," Serena taunted her brother.

"You're not looking so brilliant," Blair added another hit.

Eric gave a meaningful tilt of his head to the right, to Nate who'd managed to mess up nearly every turn.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

They'd hardly gone a block when Chuck knew he had to tell his father now. It wasn't the potential restaurant scene; it was the realization that if he waited the words wouldn't cross between them. He tried to form the phrasing but one look at his father, stoic anchor and he decided the truth ought to come straight. "Lily is having an affair," Chuck couldn't look at his father as he said the words, couldn't see the shock or the hurt. He waited for the older man to crack, or curse, or disavow the information. When the limousine remained entirely silent Chuck chanced a look back to see his father as silent, straight, hardly disturbed. Aside from the hint of disappointment, the tugging of his lips downward there was nothing. The son didn't understand. The last time infidelity had touched their family it had run right through in a wave of anger; glasses thrown, words screamed, and competing accusations. It had ripped through with jagged cruelty, ruining everything it touched. It was not this. This detached irritation. "You already knew," Chuck realized.

"I always know everything."

"And you haven't done a thing!"

"Charles, these things are not so easily..."

Chuck's angry exhalation cut him off. "Bull shit! I have a hard time believing you're fine being humiliated by your own wife."

"I'm not."

"Have you discussed it with her?"

"Not yet."

Chuck sat back and tried to figure out why. He couldn't and for so reason the realization that his father was doing nothing angered him more. That Bart had known but allowed it to continue. What was wrong with him? "You're content to act like some fucking pussy!"

"Language."

"Are you kidding me?" Chuck put a disbelieving hand to his lips, sneer crossing his features. Why was he the one getting angry? Why was this bothering him so much more than his father? He wasn't the one being cheated. Yet his father was just sitting there, total violation of his marriage vows not even warranting a dusting of disgust or a dampening of his brow. "You act like she accidentally charged too much on your credit card. She's having an affair! She's having sex another man. She's breaking all her promises to you."

"That's enough Charles!" Bart barked at his son but even sharpness of his tone could rein Chuck's anger.

"You two are a perfect fit aren't you? Ice king and his whoring queen." Chuck spat at last, knocking angrily on the dividing glass. He barked at the driver to stop and stepped out the minute the car slowed. His jacket was buttoned against the spring cold, feet walking to no destination in particular.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So, yeah, umm, sorry :) Chuck just wasn't ready to be give over that secret and putting it on top of the flurry of emotions he experienced over 24 hours, it was a recipe for disaster. I hope you all will find it in your heart to forgive him (sooner or later)...or me for writing it._

_Hmm, you think I can get to 205 reviews? Wanna help me out?_

_Anyon – Yeah. Things will be difficult for B over the next little bit but it'll smooth out_

_PeytonSwayerScott15 – Yeah! Another new reader!! I suggest you read Try Honesty and You Can't Forget Your First if you enjoy this tale (TH was the first book, YCFYF the second and Grand Romantic Gestures is the final story)_

_Annablake – Thank you :) Blair's dad is en route right now from France. As for Chucking proving what kind of man he was. I would take it as this. What he showed was the potential of who he might just become but he wasn't ready for it (hence the knee jerk response this chapter)_

_BlackLace – thanks :) Though I have to say I loved Chuck's scene around his father's funeral. They were good._

_Puresimplicity – That moment (where Chuck comes out even though he knows everyone will know he was crying) is HUGE! He's getting there :) This chapter is the beginning of that last serious issue that will divide them._

_Cassidy – sorry :( Someone else is keeping their promise._

_GrantingTroyTurner – Harold is en route to NY as we speak. Is he staying? We'll see._

_Midnight Sky – Yeah, Lily is a b*tch. At least Eric gave it to her straight this chapter._

_Modernxxmyth – sorry :(_

_Doxeh – The aftermath...well the aftermath is a bit more about Chuck breaking his promise._

_Up Next – Someone's about to skip town and when they come back they're not going to like what they see, or the reception they receive. Who deserves the second chance and who gets one anyway? _


	18. Chapter Seven Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Seven – Part One**

_March 8, 2009 _

_They tell me to stop making lists, to stop planning the reception or the service. They tell me to sit back and grieve. I don't think they'll be happy unless I fall into my bed, cry and scream until the days blend together. Why do I have to grieve to their expectations? Lie back like an invalid so that they can play the part of saint? I just need to be me and if every part of me wants to perfect a flower arrangement or to master a catering list, then who are they to deny me that?_

_I need something to do. Something to occupy myself so that I don't notice the earth has fallen off its axis. Cyrus has been here more than home, his offer of staying permanently offering me some protection against the unknown but he has his own family to tend to and his own sadness to overcome. I can see it in him. He's as desperate as me to have a purpose, and for now his purpose is me. As long as he can protect me he doesn't have to think about the wedding that should have happened._

_The strangest thing is that for a brief moment I thought I would understand. After all, I'd memorized the stages of grief in seventh grade. I just never thought I would be the one burying my mother._

_There are some things that book learning cannot prepare you for._

_Blair Waldorf_

Eric entered the room unannounced, mind already predicting the familiar scene. He'd left the Waldorf townhouse when Cyrus returned. Blair's father was arriving from Lyon that night and all the other visitors had fled to allow them to prepare for it. Blair hadn't said a thing further about Chuck but the single slip had been enough, couple it with Chuck's abrupt departure the afternoon before and the conclusion was obvious. Eric was pretty sure that even his sister had figured things out.

Had Eric had missed all the obvious signs then everything was explained in the state of Chuck's room, bags pulled and half filled. His brother was rustling through the bathroom cupboards. Eric considered alerting Chuck to his presence but veered to stand by the bed instead. Chuck's passport was lying by a three high stack of suits and Eric took a deep breath. His brother was going international. That didn't bode well for talking him out of it.

Then his eyes caught on something else. There, packed between Chuck's perfectly folded scarf and three different purple ties were two pill bottles. Now Eric was the type of guy who abhorred invasions of privacy, who waited for a person to provide the information he'd long since guessed, but even Eric Van der Woodsen couldn't let this sit. His sister was the one with the occasional drug problem but Eric still checked the name on the prescription bottle first. The _Charles Bartholomew Bass_ was a comfort until he read further. The first bottle was some string of syllables he could barely pronounce never mind recognize. The second was as long but far more familiar. There wasn't a child on the Upper East Side who couldn't read diazepam and know immediately that it was valium. What the hell was his brother doing taking that?

A hand took the bottles from Eric and threw them back into the suitcase. Eric didn't need to look at his brother to know he'd screwed any chance of convincing Chuck to stay. Chuck grabbed the three suits and gave them rough treatment, stuffing them to cover what Eric had discovered. "Tell me what happened this morning?" Eric tried a different tactic but Chuck didn't even stop what he was doing. He grabbed two different sets of black shoes from the closet, tossing one in each bag, eyes constantly checking his watch. Chuck spun again and Eric stopped him with a hand. It was quickly pushed off.

"It was nothing."

Eric knew it wasn't. His brother had been drunker than he'd been in months (and Eric had been keeping track). "Is nothing enough to make you run away?"

"I'm not running away!" Chuck corrected him.

"Suitcases, passport...what would you call it."

"A business meeting," Chuck stared straight at his brother. "I already missed my flight this morning and I was damn lucky they fit me onto this one." He drove the last pair of boots into his travel bag, zipping both with an agitated force.

"You're not going to see her at all?"

Chuck paused for just one minute; Eric could see the clench in his brother's jaw before the older boy forced it neutral. "She wouldn't want to see me."

It was probably true. It didn't make the decision any less cowardly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The airport was crawling with people, proof that either the economy wasn't as downtrodden as newscasters assured every night, or that people had returned to the city at the first signs of spring. Blair walked through the terminal; she had been walking through it for the last hour. Perhaps it was a bit strange. Blair Waldorf didn't meet anyone at the airport, not even her father, but this was different. She sipped on her black coffee, weaved through the crowds, watching the lovers kiss, the children cry, and existed for a moment, in a place where everything felt so blissfully normal. She could have stayed at the townhouse but staying there meant being drawn to the constantly ringing phone, gathering the condolences and the flowers. Since the news broadcast everyone had called and Blair, being the sole Waldorf this side of the Atlantic had to take in the sympathy. It was all overwhelming and Blair understood why her father had tried to keep the news silent for as long as possible.

It was feigned too, more practice than truth. Half of the people who called considered Eleanor Waldorf a bitch to the day she died. Blair nearly counted herself in that crowd. There were days when she considered her mother the most callous and uncaring person she'd even encountered. There were days when she'd stared in the mirror and understood what had made her. How could she not be a shrew with such a standard? Eleanor had carved her own empire and while it didn't compare to Bass Industries she'd done it with the same ruthless drive; the kind that bulldozed anything in its way, including occasionally her own daughter. But Eleanor Waldorf was not just that and Blair couldn't paint her as a one-dimensional caricature of success. Eleanor had loved her, perhaps more possessively than affectionately but she had loved her all the same. And things had improved so much since Cyrus. Her mother had calmed under the influence of love, had gained a sense of serenity that could only spread outward. Blair had been truly starting to care for her mother, not in the admiring way she always had, the detached standard to reach to but she'd started to enjoy her company, to feel her own calm around her. Blair had endured countless years of fractured distrust, only to have the new beginning ripped apart by the third page. Life was cruel and unfair.

The perfect scene turned blurry, figures rushing, hugs and kisses dissolving under a layer of liquid. She was crying again, and no matter how much she blinked things never quite cleared. She held her eyes closed a minute, felt the matching tears shade her cheeks before she opened. She saw him then; a familiar boy with familiar brown hair except it wasn't quite him either. The shoulders were the same, but these pushed through the crowd, carrying two bags that nearly toppled him, commercial ticket dangling in one hand. That couldn't be him. Chuck Bass travelled in the luxury of a private jet, had a porter to manage his bags and a casual saunter to match his life. Blair blinked again and the boy was gone; the only part that truly resembled life.

"Blair Bear?" The familiar voice came from behind and Blair finally exhaled. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I would meet you," Blair explained as she turned. One look at her father's eyes and she felt comforted, the shocked tenseness leaving her body, replacing it with a hollowness that was filled by her father's presence. God she had missed him.

"Let's go rent a car," Harold pointed at the rental booth and Blair understood why her rambled had ended here. Her father always rented cars when he came to New York, sometimes extravagant, sometimes comical. He'd order bright red sports cars or, that one time, a tiny Honda just to annoy her. They'd drive to Boston and back, across the border, or just repeatedly around the block.

She didn't feel like little rituals. She just wanted her someone to fill her empty home. "Just take one of mom's cars," She started and the realization that he could without dispute, that her mother wouldn't need them for a meeting, or a run to 5th Avenue. The fact that her mother would never need them again restarted the tears.

But this time she wasn't alone or dependent on a wavering protector. Her father wrapped her in his arms and she felt truly loved.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck pushed past two university students to sit in the vacant window seat. He'd rushed onto the plane without a minute to spare, took the agitated looks from the delayed passengers without even a conciliatory smile. He wasn't used to flying commercial; even less so when business class was full. He eased his long legs into the small seat, knees brushing the material in front and arms bumping the boy beside him.

He barely had time to fasten his seatbelt before the plane started moving. He would have been there earlier but he'd made one stop on the way to the airport. Despite everything he'd implied to Eric, Chuck couldn't leave doing nothing. So he'd stood at the florist, touched every single white lily the shop held until he found a perfect twelve. It was so insignificant but he'd sent them anyway. The entrance flowers would be drooping now, not by design by nature. He knew that the house would be a chaotic mess and no one would think to buy more. No one would remember to preserve the little things that made a house a home. So he sent them not only that day but in perpetuity. He didn't sign them. It wasn't even an attempt at an apology. It was one tiny contribution towards normalcy.

Blair shouldn't have to see her home become a house; progress backward into a dwelling with no meaning. Chuck could feel his heart hammer softly at the thought, and turned his eyes to the window. He studied the pockets of clouds, the city buildings growing smaller, his escape finalized with take off. The worst part was that he had failed to be there for her when she had done the opposite for him. When he'd been forced into an Indian exile Blair had been the one he had talked to every single day, she'd listened to him night and day, helped him through every single thought, nurtured him as much as his aunt and cousin with whom he'd stayed. When he flew back home she'd stood, olive branch in hand. How had he repaid her then? He'd dived head first into poison ivy instead. And now he was given the chance to correct the wrong, to help her as she'd helped him and what had he done?

Flowers would never be enough.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily sat primly at her place, napkin settled perfectly in her lap, fork held at exactly the right angle. It was pretence, an attempt to fit into the decorated table set for two. Her children had been chased away for the evening; his child was still somewhere north of the 49th parallel. It would have been romantic, the roses, glasses of wine and gleaming silverware. It could have been romantic but Lily knew what was coming. It didn't stop her from pretending.

She talked through forkfuls of salmon, questioned after his business and anything else she could weave between them. But she watched, waiting for the moment that Bart's face would turn angry and they would hit upon the real purpose of this intimate dinner.

Bart waited all the way to dessert, speaking candidly through spoonfuls of chocolate mousse. "I know you're cheating on me."

Lily didn't even try to deny it. Her children already knew. What would the point of denial be? She ought to have felt guilty and truth be told a large part of her did but another part was relieved. There were no more secrets.

"I'm not going to ask you why. I think I already know that," Bart pushed his tie back into his jacket and rebuttoned it. Lily sat back as Bart moved, struck by just how calm he was. He walked across the room to her and she didn't shift, didn't fear the explosive temper he'd rarely shown. He crossed right in front of her, kneeled down and for a moment her heart stopped completely. "I'm only going to ask you your intent. You are either for this family or against it," Bart was emphatic in his speech. He didn't need to raise his voice or even cross his arms. He was proud of himself for it. He was doing this the right way.

"And if I chose you then that's it. You're going to forgive me?" Lily couldn't help the disbelief. Neither could she deny the tiny flutters in her stomach at the sight before her. There was something beautiful to see a proud man kneel down in front of her, not in a proposal (she'd had enough of those) but to accept her despite her failings.

"We all make choices that we live to regret," Bart took a deep breath. "We don't always get the chance to correct them. If you chose our family then we will make it fit."

"How could I say no?" Lily winced as she said it but how could she deny it? Eric was right. She was always putting herself first, making her problems primary, her desires pulling her entire family through life in an irregular path. Maybe this was her chance to get it right. She'd married Bart knowing she didn't love him; she'd never crafted a romantic fairytale around him. Maybe that was the best beginning, the only beginning for someone as inconstant as her.

Bart kissed her cheek and she smiled. She wished she could feel more but selflessness never did give her the glow it ought.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stared out the floor to ceiling windows, the wall of glass that stretched the entire Northern side, only the slightest barrier to a world of awesome beauty. The air was so much cleaner than New York, lush greenery planted in even the densest corner of the city, mountains dusting the horizon, encircling the sounds of the city, competing with the wide creek, rich and blue to match the ocean it fed. It was a tiny piece of heaven set in the downtown core.

Chuck was struck by the strangest thought. His father must have felt like this, the strange patter in his chest almost but not quite like love. Once upon a time Bart Bass must have stood in his first building with the same sense of bemused accomplishment. That was where the similarities ended. Bart had dug his way upward, graduated business school on scholarship, worked his way to the top on pure, unadulterated talent. Chuck had started at the top; let Jack McFayden manage most of the negotiations with nothing but an eye to learn. This apartment was nothing like the decrepit walk up Bart had mortgaged his soul to acquire. This place was all clean lines, scent of freshly cut wood not chased clear.

Still, the pride must have been the same.

"Celebratory drinks?" His uncle offered from the far side of the room. Chuck didn't answer. He moved to the huge patio doors, stepping into a private terrace. There were two penthouses splitting the final two floors, each with its own sanctuary. The ivy was planted, wood boxes filled with spring plants in shades of red and yellow. The patio was enormous with step stone slate offset against arches and modern furniture, each set so free from the building that it felt as if you were dangling over False Creek: one step to being enveloped by it all.

"Chuck?"

"I think I'm going to buy this apartment," Chuck announced wistfully. It was bordering on the irresponsible, more like the old Chuck Bass (though he'd had yet to acknowledge old or new) to be struck with the irrepressible need to possess. When would he ever use this space? What would bring him to Vancouver again? When he looked back at Uncle Jack he could see those same questions reflected. It didn't break the desire. "I'm going to buy it!"

Was it wrong? To want to preserve something magical? To hold onto something positive when he was heading back to a storm of his own creation?

"Suspension bridge?" Chuck suggested with a glance at his watch. There was enough time before night fell. For that moment he'd rather dangle hundreds of feet above doom than drink his way to it.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – Just for the record...UNCLE JACK IS NOT JACK BASS. It's Jack McFayden who is the wife of Misty's younger sister and the former vice president of Bass industries per YCFYF canon. The two men have NOTHING in common. Jack McFayden is a little older than Bart, is a property lawyer by education who voluntarily left Bass Industries (after a tidy payout) after Misty's death because his wife Kaitlyn hates Bart. They also have a daughter Kathy. Kathy and Kaitlyn (Aunt Katie) spent two months in India with Chuck after his mother's death per TH/YCFYF canon. If this is totally foreign you really should read TH/YCFYF :) I nearly went back and changed the character's name after the introduction of Jack Bass on the show but for the record, I gave him an Uncle Jack first! :P

Bluestriker666 – here's more

Modernxxmyth – I'm glad it wasn't shocking at least :)

Jacquelin – yeah! A new reader!! Thanks for the review.

Szu yen – yeah! Another new reader! Thanks of the wonderful flatter :)

Princess Persephone – it will always be about the ILU. They can't take it back now.

Sky Samuelle – Nope, I've never liked Eleanor. There were moments with Eleanor (like where she sees Blair crying with Cyrus) but she has yet to really win me over. I'll have your story back to you by Sunday night.

CBEBtrory – I give you full permission to get angry with Chuck. I'm mad at him at the moment too.

Annablake – Chuck is kind of pathetic but most alcoholics are. It's going to be bumpy for a bit but something is going to happen that will drive Chuck to sobriety for nearly all of the rest of the book. (don't expect it for a few more chapters though)

Verybad4U – Chuck is going to learn about his parents before the end of the story. He's going to read his mother's suicide letter. I'll let you try to figure out the when, why and his reaction. As for J, hmm, let me think about it.

BlackLace – Dan and Vanessa will make an appearance at the end of this chapter. Unfortunately they're a little more minor characters from now in (though each have a storyline to play out yet). And it's an absolutely not on the Jack Bass :)

Up Next – Eleanor's funeral...and you thought Bart's on the show was bad?

PS: I've had a few people comment about Jenny. For the first time ever in my GG writing career I'm considering putting her in the story in a minor (and actually positive way) role. I have to admit that I absolutely hate the character of Jenny but I'm willing to put that aside and give her a bit of a story if people are truly interested. You can write it in your comments if you want that.


	19. Chapter Seven Part Two

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Seven – Part Two**

Chuck stared into the mirror and fixated on the small angle to his bowtie, tried to straighten it with his fingertips before finally yanking to start again. He brushed his hair back from his face, took a deep breath and tried to focus. It should have been a simple exercise, a couple loops and a pull but he couldn't manage even that. His hand kept shaking at the wrong moment, the process forgotten through his nausea. He was determined to relax, to calm down. He was going to make it through this. He didn't need alcohol. It was a pretty good mantra, had worked for the last week. Of course he'd been hiding in a foreign country with his aunt and uncle to smooth through the rough patches. He'd told Aunt Katie the first night; he'd never had to hide anything from her.

Chuck could have stayed another day; Misty's sister would have urged him to stay forever. He wouldn't do that to Blair. He'd done enough to her. So he refolded his black silk tie with another loop. He took another deep breath and tried to find the calm he'd felt dangling above False Creek. It was gone entirely, smothered by anxiety that had relayered with every mile of his return. He was nervous all the time now, little tremors moving from his sides to his throat, always announcing some eminent doom. So he took another pill because taking another drink wasn't an option.

"Why are you taking valium?" Eric asked from the door and Chuck knew he meant business. His brother had tones, lighter ones for sympathy, and sharper ones for honesty.

"My doctor prescribed them," Chuck explained.

"For alcohol withdrawal?"

Chuck stared at the blonde and realized he knew everything; it was obvious by the arch of his brow and the steadiness of his blue eyes. Eric had presented him with the ideal situation, had made it easy to say yes. "For anxiety," Chuck said instead. It was partially true, the anxiety being caused by the lack of alcohol in his body. The pills were for other stuff too, potentially fatal side effects that Sherman had explained in great detail. His brother inhaled to speak further and Chuck gave one last look at his still crooked bowtie and walked away from it. "I think our parents are waiting for us."

Bart stood with his back to the door, Lily's hand rubbing absent circles across the tall man's shoulders. It should have been a comforting scene but it made Chuck cringe. He tried to separate her lies to him and divide her betrayal of her father from her protection of him over the last year. She had done so much for him, been there for him through the worst of it. He was trying really hard to forgive her but then her hand dipped to the back of Bart's waist and Chuck's stomach curled in the wrong way.

Lily turned first and when her eyes caught on Chuck's they hollowed on instinct. The two hadn't managed five words together since Chuck's return. She whispered into her husband's ear and the other man matched her turn but not expression. His was something entirely different, almost hopeful.

"Charles," Bart put a hand around his wife's arm as her own dropped, an almost protective gesture.

"We're going to be at least an hour early," Chuck decided with a look at his watch. Even in the worst traffic Woodlawn Cemetery was less than hour from Manhattan. The Waldorfs had chosen to use to use Woolworth Chapel which was set right on the grounds. It was a strategic choice, an older chapel that could hold one hundred guests.

"We planned for that," Bart admitted and Chuck turned suspicious. Then the servant whispered in his father's ear and Chuck followed their eyes to two bundles of flowers except they weren't truly flowers. The arrangement was broken by only five small white orchids, each bulb overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of filling greenery. Chuck understood immediately that they weren't for Eleanor Waldorf. Blair's mother had loved flowers from the richest red to the brightest yellow blooms. She'd adored everything, from their scent to their extravagance: purchasing lilies simply for the expense, the show of opulence at her front door.

"Serena is going in the family car with Blair," Lily explained. "And Eric..."

"I'm meeting Damien."

Misty Bass was nothing like Eleanor Waldorf. She had preferred greenery because flowers were too delicate, born to blossom once and die. Her mother had filled her garden with vines, ferns and even three lemon trees: The type of plants that never stopped growing.

"I thought we could..." His father started and Chuck felt a hand on his own back, his brother's touch supposed to be comforting him on cue. It hardly worked once he'd realized they'd set everything up.

"Hell no," Chuck spat before his father could finish. He knew their plan before the words came. What were they expecting? That they could take him to his mother's grave, he'd shed a few tears and suddenly everything would be okay? He'd accept Lily as...what exactly? There was no way! He wasn't making his first pilgrimage with a cheating replacement.

"Charles," Lily stepped forward and he could almost see the olive branch wrapt through her fingers. It's too bad he didn't want it.

"I'd rather take a cab," Chuck told her and walked right out the front door. He heard it click again behind him and knew Eric was following.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair tried to view the townhouse with a detached eye, tried to pretend it was one of the school socials she'd planned for most of her teen years. From that side it was perfect, black silk subdued by red lace. It was refined, elegant and just the slightest bit pretentious, just as her mother had been. The silverware sparkled under her mother's antique crystal chandelier, red roses and white lilies flanking every room.

"It looks beautiful" Her father assured her from behind, looping her arm around his daughter's shoulders. She relaxed into her father's arm, smiled though it was out of place. Her father had carried five suitcases from the bag check the week before, proof that he was here to stay. Not forever but Blair wasn't here forever either. He was here until she graduated, to support her through the last few months of school and just knowing that made everything around her calm a little. She had always loved her father best. "You should start getting ready," Harold reminded her.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck tried, he truly did but once the limousine reached the crest of the hill he was done. There were no video games to occupy his hands, and even though Eric kept up the chatter it didn't even distract once they passed the ornate metal gates. There were no little white pills to tame the attack that was building; he'd taken enough to guarantee peace if it could be found in medication form. "I need a drink," Chuck announced and Eric shifted on instinct to cover the mini bar. "Give me a drink," Chuck ordered his brother but the blonde held his ground. He could hear the distant church bells, the scent of dew and death that he shouldn't be experiencing for the first time but was.

"You need to calm yourself down," Eric tried instead.

"No, you don't understand," Chuck fixed his stare right on his brother. "I really can't do this sober."

Later, Eric would wonder why he'd crumbled. It might have been the sheer desperation of his brother but more likely it was the fact that if Chuck truly wanted to drink, he would find a way. At least here, in his brother's company, things could be managed.

Somewhere in the third glass he forgot the exact cause of his distress. There were too many competing sources: his stepmother, his betrayal of Blair, or maybe the simple repeat of history. Somewhere in that same cemetery his mother was buried. He didn't even know where. His father had kept him from the burial, from the funeral as the press ripped through everything. He'd never gone back, Bart had never taken him. He knew Bart went every single week but they never talked about it. And now, now he was going to watch his closest friend bury her mother and he couldn't help but feel the twisted irony of history repeating.

"Would you like to go with me?" Eric asked and Chuck knew he wasn't talking about the Chapel.

"I can't," Chuck admitted. "I don't even know where she's buried."

"There are lists."

"I don't want to know," Chuck corrected and put his head back. His brother took the drink from his hand and he didn't fight it. He didn't have enough energy to fight anything. His head was a foggy mess and he was dragging his nails just to survive.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The morning fog was changing to sun when Blair caught sight of him, walking beside his taller brother. His black suit blended with the countless others, not even a bright coloured vest or bowtie to differentiate. Blair didn't need it. She always knew where he was. She turned back to the entrance of the chapel, resumed the necessary hand shaking. It didn't help. She could feel her whole body tense as he drew closer. She'd expected him to be here but expectation rarely coincided with reality when Chuck Bass was involved. It would have been better if he didn't come because his every step tripled the tension in her. It dragged down one leg and then the other, twisted through her back and clawed its way up her throat. It heated her thoughts but not in the sensual way. Her anger was growing as the distant closed, irritated trembles replacing the calm of the morning. She was positively livid by the time he reached the base of the hill, fury pushing her feet away from their base. She was halfway across entrance garden before her father even noticed the movement. Cyrus was more observant and better able to predict her actions but he was way on the other side of the enclosed space.

Chuck caught her eye as she closed the space between them. He recognized the flashing anger, noticed how her stilettos dug up the ground as she marched. He didn't run away this time.

"What are you doing here?" Blair's words were delivered with such an acidic tone that Eric quickly moved to protect his older brother. Chuck stopped him with a hand, kept Eric to the side, left himself exposed to Blair's full wrath. "You think I want you to be here? After what you did?"

"I'm sor..." Chuck didn't even get a chance to finish before she hit him, a violent slap that would have left him light headed had he not already been there. Harold rushed from one side, Lily from the other but they didn't meet in the middle. "You promised me," Blair's voice shook with anger. "You _promised me!_"

"I'm sorry."

"Why did you come at all? Why even bother," her hand flew through the air in emphasis and Chuck flinched on instinct. "You do nothing but break promises. Your word is worth nothing. _You _are nothing," She pushed further and Eric moved against his brother's hand.

Chuck didn't even try to apologize again; he stayed quiet and accepted the insults as readily as they were formed. Why fight it? It was all true.

"Just a pathetic boy who can't commit to anything beyond self-destruction. Like your attempt at sobriety," She stared at his red lined eyes. "I think we can all see how that's going."

"You've said enough," Eric stepped between them at the last insult, Harold reaching his daughter and matching the intervention. Blair was pulled to the church doors, Chuck to freedom.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The entire crowd was watching the showdown, but few with as much interest as a pair of Brooklynites far from the rest. An after effect of Dan's relationship with Blair and their slowly developing friendship was that Dan had been invited along with his entire family. On his own arm he'd chosen Vanessa, she was rarely from his side now. Their eyes met the scene but, in contrast to their usual same mindedness, with two widely divergent opinions. One was contented but the other; well she wasn't sure quite what she felt until her feet started moving.

"What the hell?" Dan pulled his date before she bolted across the manicured lawns.

"What?" Vanessa composed herself quickly.

"Let her father handle it." Dan suggested. "It's got nothing to do with us."

"I know," Vanessa agreed but then added. "She just shouldn't talk to him like that."

"You're taking Chuck's side?" Dan realized in disbelief.

"What?" Vanessa pushed her composure to the edge. "No."

"Blair has more than enough reasons..."

"I know that. It's just. Chuck is more sensitive then he lets on."

"Sensitive?" Dan snorted at the very idea.

"His life hasn't been that great."

"His life," Dan's eyebrows rose higher in astonishment. "Why are you waxing about his life?" He asked and then truth struck, turning his face ashen white and his posture fully straight. It was pretty obvious. Even when dating Nate, Vanessa had never considered the blonde's best friend anything other than a wasted scoundrel. "The scotch!" His voice rose and then dropped back down with his suspicion. "Was it Chuck?"

"Of course not," Vanessa started her denial but it lacked the convincing edge needed.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Dan's voice dropped even further. "Chuck Bass! Honestly, you slept with him?" His disgust was more than evident.

"God," Vanessa gave a hiss of frustration. "Could you be more judgemental?"

"At least I have judgement," Dan corrected her. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Just shut up."

"I mean, how, when, why..."

"I don't..."

"Have you lost your mind?" Dan suggested.

"Of course not!"

"And in my house!" Dan's face went a little paler. "Oh my god! Did you have sex with him in my bed?" He was already calculating the cost of a replacement.

"No," Vanessa's voice had risen to a hiss.

"Okay," Dan breathed easier. "We just won't tell Jenny and..."

"We did it on your kitchen floor," Vanessa hissed further to shut him up.

Dan rolled his eyes at her taunting, until he noticed something. Vanessa wasn't kidding. "We're going to have to move."

"You are such a drama queen," Vanessa was the one rolling her eyes this time.

"I'm not the one sleeping with..." words failed him. "Really Vanessa, what were you thinking?"

"Your father is having an affair with Lily," Vanessa shot out on instinct. It was enough to shut the future poet. Dan's instinct was to call her a liar but once he looked up he knew she wasn't. The entire Upper East Side was staring at Chuck and Blair but his father was staring unceasingly at Lily Bass.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The streetlights played against Chuck's face as they moved, sparkling colour into his features, drawing contrast to the rapidly spreading grey. Eric tried to draw his brother into conversation but Chuck kept his eyes out the window. The older brother's stare was entirely blank and his shoulders slumped progressively further as they moved. They were halfway back to Manhattan when Chuck did something he never had before. He put his head to the seat, face pressing down against the imported leather. Eric had his hand on the cell before his brother even spoke.

"What does a heart attack feel like?" Chuck slurred against the seat. "I'm too young to have a heart attack right?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Alas, I'm guessing people hate the direction I went with this (considering the cataclysmic drop in reviews). It's funny because I'm really enjoying writing it, but I've been known to really enjoy angst. So I'll keep chugging along even if I'm the only one left to read the end :) We've nearly hit our climax for Chuck's story (the darkest moment comes early rather than late in this story...). It doesn't mean they'll be no difficulties as we progress but the vast majority of Chuck's progression past chapter 10 is all positive. I might post the next few chapters in full rather than chunks, thereby increasing the waiting but reducing the full power of the angst._

_And I really thought this tale was going to be lighter than the last. Of course, once upon a time I also meant to focus on Nate. I should just admit it now, I enjoy writing dark stuff and I enjoy writing Chuck. Plus it was cathartic to put all my Chuck-directed anger in Blair's mouth._

_Puresimplicity xo – You are absolutely right, part of the reason that Chuck keeps failing is because he has no support: at least Blair's comments guarantee that everyone is going to know now and he's about to have support in buckets because of it. _

_Ashtondene – poor Blair indeed. _

_Szu Yen – At least Chuck came back for Blair ;)_

_Up Next – Eric's about to make a poor choice, or maybe a good choice, I'll let you decide. Damien finally has his opening. Chuck plots some revenge (don't worry, it isn't against Blair)._


	20. Chapter Eight Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Eight – Part One**

_March 15, 2009_

_I had a grade school teacher who insisted that the basis of my success was the intractable desire to be exact. At the time I nearly laughed aloud. I am not a perfectionist; neither do I always conform to rule. I can appreciate her words more as I've grown to fulfill them. I try to do everything in accordance with fact, I plan before I proceed; I chose my words with care and hold myself to standard. I have placed my trust in due process. It could be a positive stance if the entire psyche wasn't born out of a need for conformity which was, in turn, created out of a lack of it._

_It was the night after the funeral that I took out my well-worn dictionary. I'd wrestled the truth from Chuck and knew exactly what happened between him and Blair to create such a storm. It was an issue of trust. It was always about trust with them, the fear of vulnerability and the craving for it. As I read the definition of trust I understood that neither he nor Blair had ever had a chance._

_**Firm reliance of the integrity, ability or character of a person or thing**_

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

He hadn't been this fucked up since the summer of 2005, of that he was certain. Well, except for that brief period early last summer, when he'd taken enough drugs to wake in a Brooklyn alley. He'd discounted that brief lapse. After all, there were extenuating circumstances. Eric had to help him from the car and for the briefest of moments Chuck was amused by the idea of arriving at emergency by limousine. There is a delightful irony somewhere there that he couldn't quite grasp. He couldn't grasp much of anything, open palm slipping past a pole as he'd stumbled, Eric using all his strength to keep them both upright. Chuck couldn't remember the last few steps to the sliding doors or waiting in the waiting room. He'd assume it later. They must have waited in the waiting room. Everyone has to wait in the hospital.

His head was spinning, dropping from side to side and then meeting somewhere in the middle. Chuck put a shaky hand to it only to find that his head was in fact stationary and it was the room that was moving: sharp neon lights that kept brightening and dimming without pattern, shadowy figures shifting left and right, the scent of bleach everywhere. He didn't belong here but could still vaguely remember agreeing to it. It was Eric. He eventually agreed to anything Eric asked. Someone was talking to the left and he turned to see, his entire body nearly falling from the cot. There was a hand there, help to push him back to sitting. The blankets were so rough and there was far too much noise. He wanted to sleep but who could under such condition? So he sat back up and this time he didn't need a hand to help.

"What is you name?" A nurse pushed her face uncomfortably close, the blood pressure cuff distracting him from an answer. "Your name," She prompted again through the turning lights.

"Bass," Chuck finally answered, turning his eyes to paw at the black bracelet. "I'm a Bass."

"What have you taken Bass?"

"No," Chuck turned his head back up to the nurse, room spinning beyond his point of sight. "Bass is my father's name."

"His name is Chuck," A voice called from across the room, easily answering the question that Chuck himself couldn't quite grasp.

"What did you take Chuck?" The nurse tried again. She had the most vivid blue eyes and he kept focussed on them even as the rest of her face started to blur into nothing. Then the eyes were gone and it was too many moments before he realized she'd turned away. "What did he take?" She asked to the faceless voice across the room.

"He's on valium." The voice answered and Chuck wondered how it had all the answers. Had his guardian angel become flesh? "And he's been drinking."

"How much?" The nurse asked.

"Seven, maybe eight drinks. All hard liquor."

"How much valium."

"I don't know," The voice answered and Chuck decided that it was wrong. Guardian angels were supposed to know everything.

"Chuck," The eyes were back, fingertip pressing harder underneath his chin to keep it steady. "How many pills did you take?" He tried to focus on her question but it was slipping somewhere with the rest of him. All he could see were her nails, perfectly rounded but unpainted. That wasn't right. All women should have painted nails, in pretty shades of pink, red, even purple. "Chuck," the voice snapped a little harder and despite everything he could recognize the disappointment in it. It made him try harder. He worked to concentrate, to run through the morning in his mind.

"His respiration is slow."

He saw it in flashes, short clips that were hard to order enough to allow counting. What had been that day, what had been the night before? He tried to close his eyes, to recall the white bathroom and how many times he'd been there. The nurse shook his head until his eyes reopened.

"Blood pressure is 50 over 33."

"Eight," His voice came through before the thought fully processed.

The moment the syllable was from his mouth the nurse (he supposed it must be a doctor now) relinquished him to another woman. She had brown eyes, but they weren't soft or delicate, there was an angular harshness to her face that even the blur of his eyes couldn't diffuse.

Eric could feel his dread gnaw further with every order the doctor barked. He measured the emergency from her voice, the curtness of her movements.

"I'm going to put a breathing mask on you," The new nurse explained to his brother, even though Chuck seemed past the point where explanation was necessary. "It's going to help you to breathe," She assured Chuck but Eric was the one who was comforted.

"The IV is in," the second nurse informed the rest, and Eric stood back as another man rushed into the room. Eric blended into the furthest wall as the room's occupants scurried from side to side.

"I'm going to need a shot of flumazenil," The doctor ordered and Eric had no idea what that was. He had no idea what most of their speech alluded to and he didn't like feeling stupid. "And a tube."

"Is he going to be alright?" He finally asked but the question did nothing but distract the company.

"Get him out of here," The doctor ordered and no matter how tall Eric tried to stand the sole male nurse had him out the door before he could ask to stay.

Silence reigned the moment that door closed, the calm of the hospital broken only by the scurry of people in and out of his brother's room. He grabbed at their arms, wanting anyone to tell him what was going on but all were too intent at their task and slipped away without a single word. Eric needed some reassurance, someone to tell him things would be fine so the stress would stop. He hated uncertainty and every opening of that door, the flood of sound just increased his own. Eventually it reached a point he couldn't control. So he punched the wall as hard as he could and let his frustrated yell destroy the silence.

He should have seen it coming.

He waited another ten minutes before his fingers went to the cell. He'd used all his powers of pleasing to convince the tiny Asian receptionist to discuss Chuck's situation with him. He'd have bought her dinner if the bitch would just give him an update. She was unmoved, they were all unmoved. He might have been charming but they just saw a sixteen year old kid. So he flipped his phone open. There were surely rules against such things but Eric needed help.

It was an easy decision despite Chuck's pleadings. His brother had insisted for the entire drive to hospital that Eric not call his father. It was Chuck's sole condition for coming. Even as his older brother's words had slurred tighter together, as his confusion had turned even the simplest phrase incomprehensible Chuck had insisted with surprising clarity that, no matter what, his father would never know. Eric dialled the number anyway. It was Bart's not knowing that had sunk them to this level.

Eric paced the length of the floor again; the nurse that manned the reception desk had long since given up on trying convincing him to sit. They wouldn't tell him a thing, offering instead sympathetic smiles as if they were of use. That all changed when Bart arrived, dressed in his mourning black and possessing a darker expression than Eric could ever hope to.

"Where is he?" Bart barked the instant he caught sight of the youngest Van der Woodsen and Eric was strangely calmed. He pointed at the room and Bart was halfway to it before an orderly blocked his way. "Do you know who I am?" Bart spoke with such authority that the young hospital worker flinched.

"The doctor will be done soon."

"So will your hope for a new wing," Bart decided aloud. "If you don't get someone out here now to explain exactly what is happening."

"Mr. Bass," the nurse finally stepped from behind the reception desk: Bart garnering the respect that Eric had tried for. "You should sit down," She pressed a glass of water into his hand and directed him, not to a chair like they had Eric, but a private sitting room. "They'll be busy with your son for a time."

"What is happening to him?"

"I'll find someone to answer that," The nurse promised and shut the door as quickly as possible. The room was a small private space, hospital grade furniture upgraded by a carpet and five landscape portraits. Eric eyed the small gathering room and decided that Bart'd been given the same brush off, but in better style. When the other nurse appeared within five minutes Eric had to reconsider the thought. She pulled her gloves as she entered, white mask hanging into her green scrubs.

"How is Charles?"

"The doctor is working with him now."

"What is wrong with him?"

"He mixed valium and alcohol," Eric supplied before the nurse could, drawing Bart's shocked look.

"It's considered a life-threatening drug interaction."

"Again," Bart ordered.

"Your son has mixed two depressive agents that have a synergistic effect." The nurse explained further. "What it means is that combined depression of two is greater than the sum of either."

"In English!"

"If he took one glass of alcohol and one valium it's like having three."

"Okay."

"Basically either of the drugs depresses breathing and blood pressure, combine them and the effect is tripled." Bart and Eric took a collective breath as the nurse paused. "The doctor is administering a benzodiazepine-receptor antagonist: a drug that will counter the effects of the Valium. They'll pump his stomach too."

"What should I do?"

"Fill these out," The nurse handed him a stack of paperwork.

"What else?" Bart tossed the papers without even looking at them.

"Just relax," The nurse assured him. "Chuck is going to be fine. Your younger son saw to it."

Bart could have corrected the assumption but he chose not to, not when Eric had saved his actual son's life.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair moved through the room, emptying champagne glass in her hand. The mourners filled her mother's home, spilling out from the main sitting rooms to several other public ones. They ate all the ordered she'd ordered, commented on the flowers, made all the needed small talk and part of Blair was pleased. She had done her job, given her mother a sending off worthy of a Waldorf. She might not have approved in life, but Eleanor Waldorf would have been greatly pleased by her funeral.

She kept her eyes from Serena as she moved, avoided the conversation that was sure to come the second the guests left. She was afraid of a lot of the conversations that would come after. So she put her effort into perfecting every moment of the wake because it took too much energy to figure out what she was going to do tomorrow. Cyrus met her once in the middle and she could sense the disappointment though it was never voiced. He hadn't forgotten what Chuck had done for her first.

She hadn't either and that's why, no matter how justified her rant was, it was also just a tiny bit cruel. So she took another circle of the room and kept to her father's company. Harold had never liked Chuck.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It took only fifteen minutes for Eric to question what had made him fear Bart Bass in the first place. There had been a time when Lily had first announced her engagement that Eric had been outright terrified of his stepfather: the sameness of his expression, the cold authority of his voice, the strange detachment the older man had to everything. He had been an almost robotic parody of a man.

It took less than six months for the mystery to unravel. It started the first time he'd caught sight of Bart's panicked expression, continued through more than one screaming liturgy and ended in that moment. The great Bart Bass reduced to a terrified father, hands touching his eyes, nose, chin, anywhere they could be put to use, foot jumping wildly against the cheap carpeting, pausing only to shift to the other side. Bart was as human as the rest of them.

It was another half hour before the doctor appeared a tall stocky blonde with striking blue eyes and an enormous folder. "How is Charles?" Bart launched to his feet the instant the door reopened.

"Your son will be fine," The doctor assured him but there was something in the way that she sat that undermined the words. "He's resting now."

"Can I visit him?"

"Not right away."

"When?"

"I have some questions first," the doctor explained and took a stack of papers from her folder. "If you could sit down." Bart took one last look at the door and then settled back into his chair. Eric sat immediately beside him, the doctor eyeing the younger boy as he did. "You might want your son to step outside." Eric nearly corrected her mistaken assumption but at that moment he didn't care enough to. There were more pressing questions.

The doctor's urging had quite the opposite effect to what was hoped. Rather than rising to leave, Eric hunkered further into the nylon couch. Bart took one look and decided Eric was better suited to be there than him.

"We have some paperwork to complete," The doctor started in her most calming voice. Bart reached to the side table and handed her all the papers they'd pushed on him. The doctor took a quick look and added them to the expanding folder. "What we need to know," the doctor shifted, setting of a chain reaction through the room "Is whether this overdose was purposeful."

"What do you mean?" Bart asked before the realization hit. "You think he..."

"Has he been acting withdrawn lately? Any changes in appetite or sleep habits."

"My son is not the type to do that..." Bart insisted.

The doctor took an unconvinced breath and flipped the file open again. "This is not Chuck's first overdose."

Eric went paler at the thought, looked to Bart for the truth and found it plainly on his face. Bart understood why the doctor had suggested Eric leave. "No," Bart admitted knowing there'd be far fewer secrets after this.

"The last time Chuck was..." The doctor flipped further.

"Fourteen."

"And it was also alcohol related?"

"Yes," Bart admitted and for all the Bass pride his fingers were in his hair before he spoke the rest. "Alcohol and cocaine...but he doesn't use that stuff anymore."

The doctor arched one eyebrow but just kept flipping back to the final page, removing a document and passing it to the older man. Bart had one look at it and his hand was down, his face scrunched in anger. "You want me to commit him?"

"Just until we can have a psychiatric evaluation performed."

"I'm not going to do that!"

"Technically we don't need your permission. Not only is a Chuck an adult but psych evaluations are typical in these sorts of situations. Your permission is only one tool to illicit Chuck's consent."

"You think my son is crazy?"

"He took eight times the recommended dosage of valium and then chased it with a half bottle of scotch." The doctor said it calmly and for some reason that bothered Bart more than the words themselves. She flipped her pages as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world. Well it wasn't. His son wasn't some withdrawn misfit; he was outgoing to a fault.

"I'm not signing anything!" Bart tried to affect her calmness but the intensity of his glare undermined it.

"That is your choice," The doctor flipped her folder shut and stood. "He's sleeping now but you can see him." She was out of the room before Bart could comment on her bedside manner, his drive to see his son far outweighing the disgust at his doctor.

The room was sterilized through before they entered, scent of bleach competing with the steady hiss of Chuck's IV. His brother was fast asleep, deep lines marring his usually flawless face. They cut under the side of each eye, tracing a path that didn't end until the tip of each cheekbone. His skin had taken on a deeper shade of grey, sullen when it was usually flushed, expression neutral when it was usually filled. Staring at him that way, Eric couldn't help but feel the panic.

"I'm going to call Serena," Eric whispered as his stepfather sat.

"No," Bart shook his head. "Don't." He absently brushed the hair from his son's face. "He wouldn't want anyone to know."

"Pretty soon everyone will!" Eric swore. How could they not? He'd dragged a half-conscious Chuck Bass into the largest hospital in the state. He was surprised Gossip Girl hadn't dinged by now. Then Bart turned to him and it was in the eyes. He didn't need to refute the statement, his calmness said enough. Eric suddenly understood why he'd never heard of Chuck overdosing before.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – So it wouldn't be amomentintime story if Chuck didn't end up in the hospital at least once. I had to split this posting up a bit or else you wouldn't be getting an update for a long time (chapter 8 is looking like three parts but I'm hoping to contain it to two).

Has anyone figured out what I'm doing? I'll give you a hint. Chuck moves fully backwards to go fully forward. :)

Szu Yen – thanks. I decided to stick with sections after all. I think I'm starting to look forward to the end of the serious angst too though. It's not much longer :)

Kim – thank you so much for the honour of being your first review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

BlackLace – Thanks for the review despite the disappointment. Hopefully you won't regret continuing in the end (I don't think you will).

Bluestriker – thanks

Puresimplicity XO – You just know that Dan went home and AJAX'd his whole kitchen (maybe I'll put that in next chapter)

Sky Samuelle – I'm having trouble playing with dan's realization because he's so determined to remain that judgemental character. Most of my characters have their defining moments mapped out but he's so determined to stay the way he is!

Ashtondene – Yeah, I'm starting to hate Lily too. Her actions are going to cost her something dear in the end.

CBEBTR trory12 – Wow, I can tell you're hating on Chuck now. I don't blame you. He causes all his own problems and can't seem to sort himself out. I'm more sympathetic though.

Doxeh – I liked the C/V too. Maybe one day I'll write a CV one-shot.

Zabimaru06 – Yeah, another new reader :) Thanks!

Acbassxo – thanks :) If you like this you should read the two stories that preceded it (Try Honesty and then You Can't Forget Your First).

GrantingTroyTurner – It's a good guess (the Charlie Trout bit) but no. The whole Vanessa outing Chuck's secrets was actually the first storyline I ever drafted for this story (and it preceded the Charlie Trout on the show). It kind of plays off Chuck's comments about Vanessa at the board meeting in Try Honesty (it sparked from there).

MidnightSky – Kathy is showing up somewhere near the end of Chapter ten. There is a lot more Damien & Eric to come.

Sarcasticsunbeam – I'm incurable when it comes to CB too. Believe me when I say that when CB reunite there will not be a single issue left :)

TheDisruptiveOne – I actually agree with you. I understand why Blair is upset but it has more to do with the fact that she was willing to trust him and he didn't follow through than what he actually did. Once she gets a bit of distance she'll realize that what he did wasn't the end of the world.

Up Next – The one test Chuck needs to pass...or is it fail? Chuck exercises his powers of adult independence.


	21. Chapter Eight Part Two

**Grand Romantic Gestures **

**Chapter Eight – Part Two**

There were few lights on in the Brooklyn building, some gallery lighting on the upper floor and a couple tables in the cafeteria. Bedford Galleries was closed but Eric knew he'd find Damien there, checking lighting, studying dimensions, making sure that every single inch of the gallery embodied his vision. There were no more paintings to hang or sculptures to situate; the work was now in the details. Eric almost turned around at the thought. Damien would surely be too busy to deal with him but who else could he talk to? Bart had sworn him to secrecy thereby nullifying his entire family. So he put his hand to the glass door, a shocking realization hitting him as he opened it; He believed in Damien enough to confide in him, to trust him with something of this magnitude. That must mean something.

Eric found him in the first room, two coffee cups dividing his boyfriend and a tall brunette. She was an older woman, long cream skirt offset by a feather top, thick platinum hair undone and blending into her pale face. They were deep in talk and once he'd taken a few steps into the room he understood why. Damien was discussing his work, middle aged woman taking notes in time. There were several of requests for interviews now and Eric wasn't surprised to know Damien had rescheduled one when his presence was no longer required at Eleanor's wake. Eric stood awkwardly three steps from the doorway. Damien kept talking and Eric considered withdrawing, but then the Brit caught sight of him and his expression changed. There was no relaxation, no bemused chatter, the older boy's face became as worried as Eric's own must be. "Mr. Allenby," The reporter tried to attract the artist's attention back, disproving glance at the younger interloper.

"Excuse me," Damien pushed past her. He came right to Eric's side before asking. "Are you okay?"

Eric didn't know how to respond. He gave a look to the reporter and it was enough. She was dismissed, even after her complaint of not enough material Damien compelled her out the door and locked it behind. "You're better tell me what has you so pale."

"I nearly killed my brother."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Waldorf penthouse was starting to thin, crowds of people traded for closer friends. Lily manoeuvred through the room to stand by the buffet, empty champagne glass dangling from her newly manicured nails. A hand moved to refill it and Lily didn't need to turn to know it wasn't one of the hired servers. "You shouldn't be talking to me," Lily chastised but held her empty glass anyway.

"Where is Bart?" Rufus asked and Lily was horrified to realize that despite the context, her own stomach jumped at the intonation.

"He's tending to _our_ family," Lily emphasized for her own protection.

"You haven't tired of playing house?"

Lily didn't want to stare at him but how could she not? How dare he make such an assumption? "Good night Rufus," Lily put the untouched glass beside the melting ice sculpture. She could feel his eyes as she walked away, but she wasn't melting under the heat.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The first thing he felt was the tiny pinprick in his hand, the second was the slow coldness that spread from that point outward. He knew immediately that he was in the hospital, that realization followed by beeping noises, strange voices, and the scent of cleanliness without perfume. He could feel the rough sheets wrapped tightly to his body, the pillow sagging beneath his head and knew he was the patient. For the briefest of moments he felt a paralyzing wave of disappointment. It terrified him enough to force his eyes open. The blinding neon washed his mind of any thoughts, temporarily blinded his senses before exchanging itself for circles of light and stillness.

His stomach shot through with pain, his sides aching beyond their physical place. He knew what they'd done, the memory might have been four years old but he could still remember what it felt like to have one's stomach pumped. He put hand to his abdomen, grimace of pain contorting his features. "Are you alright?" Someone asked and the reality of who the voice belonged to chased the pain away under a new concern. His father was here. His father was sitting right beside him. It must have been truly bad for Eric to have done that to him.

"I'm fine," Chuck lied. He forced his face neutral and his hand back to the side. He kept his eyes at the neon, floating white circles preferable to whatever expression his father might hold. He waited for the chastisement, anxiety rising with every moment that passed. That last time his father had launched into a screaming fit that had resulted in a new obstetric wing and a flight across country.

Chuck didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until his father asked the question. "Why did you do it?" Then he turned to his father in astonishment. The opening wasn't much different from last time but the manner of delivery was. Bart had used a soft tone.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...did you try to..."

Chuck suddenly realized just what his father was alluding to. "_I was trying to calm down_." He spat out in disgust and it was Bart's turn to release his breath.

The nurse appeared shortly after, chasing his father away and bringing in his place a portly doctor with thick glasses.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric didn't mean it literally; he just couldn't reconcile himself with the fact that he'd been the one to let Chuck drink. Eric had never seen himself as the enabling type but he'd folded so easily. The truth was that his decision had probably saved Chuck's life. Eric had chosen a controlled location under his watchful eye. Still when his brother sunk straight down into his seat he couldn't help but feel partially responsible for it.

"If I've learned anything," Damien pressed a cup of chamomile tea into his boyfriend's hands. "It's that there are no easy choices.'

"What did you do?"

"A little bit of everything. Some things worked, other didn't, some things worked for a time but in the end I had to learn a simple lesson. You can't save someone who doesn't want to save themselves."

"But Chuck's been trying."

"Then he'll figure it out on his own." Damien assured him.

"Do you talk to you brother?"

"I try not to."

"Why?"

Damien shrugged his shoulders, jaw clenching briefly before he put the feeling to words. "Because I could easily spend my entire life trying to fix his."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart had developed an intense dislike for that small cupboard of a room. He'd sat at his son's bedside for three hours with strict orders to not disturb his sleep. They'd have sedated Chuck but sedation was half of the puzzle that'd ended him there. It'd hardly be appropriate. Then, shortly after Chuck had awoken, the nurses had ushered Bart back to that cupboard. They wanted to evaluate his son individually and so Bart sat and contemplated. He wondered how large the cover up would be this time (obviously huge), whether he should confide in Lily (he was leaning heavily towards no), whether Eric was trustworthy (he had few doubts on that) but most importantly what his son had truly been thinking.

"Mr. Bass," That unapproachable nurse returned; the blonde with the horrid bedside manner. He was developing an intense dislike for her as well.

"What did the doctor decide?"

"Dr. Brown has no fixed opinion," The doctor arched her brow and Bart noticed the wrinkles form.

"What does that mean?"

"He got only five questions in before your son suggested _the doctor _trying mixing _twenty_ pills with a _full_ bottle of scotch." The blonde shifted her paperwork. "The doctor proceeded with question six after and your son's reply was...well...it wouldn't be polite to repeat it."

Bart tried not to smile, he truly did but, well, it was just so much his son. "Are we done then?"

"No. Your son has agreed to have his own psychiatrist do the consult."

"_His _psychiatrist?"

"Doctor William Sherman," She read the name off the chart and Bart was dumbfounded. "He'll be arriving any moment. I'll call you when they've finished."

Bart crossed his arms and employed the glare that had garnered him an empire. "No. I've played by your rules but I'm not waiting anymore." He didn't wait for the doctor to refute him; he paused only long enough to draft a quick text and then returned to his son's side.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair pulled the pins from her hair, let the tightly coiled bun fall into waves around her diminutive shoulders. Her eyes were red, her tears sparked more than once that day. She tried to rub them back to a neutral white, realizing halfway through that it was a dimwitted exercise. She could hear the door open and knew Serena had entrapped her at last. "Don't bother saying it," Blair told the mirror before she caught the blonde locks in it.

"You should..."

"I already know it was the wrong thing." Blair ran a brush through her chestnut hair as she spoke. "I don't even know why I was _that_ angry."

_Maybe because your mother just died_ Serena knew but also knew enough not to say it. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Blair rolled her eyes into the mirror, giving a pull at her waves with her thickest brush. "He was there after everything," Blair admitted. "He was...so....un-Chuck-like!" Blair stared back at her friend through the mirror, hoping that would be enough. The blonde remained silent. "He was...comforting. He convinced me to go to the hospital." Blair could feel the tears prick again and blamed them on the emotions of the day. She'd cried enough over that liar. "He promised me he'd come back the next morning," Blair's tone turned sharper. "And he didn't. I mean it's not like I truly expected him to," she tried to cover up the truth but her tears undid it.

"He might have been," Serena advised her. "His life has been pretty erratic as of late."

Blair gave a laugh until she realized just how serious her friend truly was. Serena was not the type to make excuses for Chuck.

"My mother is cheating on his father."

Blair shut her eyes at the thought, brush going back to the dressing table. "I'm sorry Serena."

"Like you said," Serena's smile turned lopsided. "It's all about expectations."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was already talking with Doctor Sherman when his father arrived, the thin rail of a psychiatrist occupying the chair closest to his son, writing notes in his booklet. The doctor eyed Bart warningly as he entered and Bart responded by not bothering to reintroduce himself. He had a lot of questions to put to the man but he contented himself with crossing his arms instead, back held straight as a rail and ears keen to pick up every word of the conversation.

"There are several treatment facilities..."

"I'm not interested in that," Chuck cut the doctor off.

"You should consider..."

"I'm not going to rehab."

"I brought the pamphlet for one in Boston..."

"What else is there?" Chuck was a forceful enough that Sherman dropped that tangent.

"You're still scoring extremely high in several areas of our screen," Sherman admitted with a timed look at his father, another light suggestion that the older man leave the room.

"And?"

"I'd like to try something else." Sherman made a few notes on the file.

"No more of that valium shit," Chuck ordered, rubbing absently at his eyes.

"I'd like to try you on a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor medication."

"What the fuck is that?" Chuck drawled but his father had him beat. Bart knew exactly what that meant.

"You think my son is depressed?"

"They are traditionally called antidepressants," Sherman admitted. "But they're often used for treatment of anxiety and other mental disorders."

"I have a mental disorder now?" Chuck rolled his eyes and sat back into the bed. _Life was so much simpler when he was just a run of the mill alcoholic._

"You're not putting my son on any of those things," Bart announced with firm finality.

"That's not really your choice to make." Sherman reminded Bart.

"They're dangerous!"

"So is withdrawal," Sherman explained.

"He just needs to stop drinking!"

"You son has been abusing alcohol for nearly a decade."

"He's only eighteen now!" Bart corrected, crossing his arms angrily across the chest. "He'd have to have been drinking since he was eight!" He tightened his arms until he realized the doctor wasn't correcting himself. He turned to his son and saw the truth. "Since you were eight?" Bart asked in astonishment.

"Nine," Chuck admitted with a feeble voice and his father was finally shocked to silence.

"Considering the length of his addiction and its presence in his developing years, there is no predicting how his body will respond to full withdrawal. If you then consider the history of mental disorder in the family."

Bart took a deep breath at that little reminder. "How about a family history of adverse reaction to antidepressants?" Bart crossed his arms tightly again.

"If there is a history then we would have to take care to educate Chuck as to the potential side effects."

Chuck shut his eyes and let the older men argue over him. "If!" Bart's face went a darker red. "My wife would still be alive if it wasn't for your stupid medications." That proclamation made the son open his eyes again.

"I can understand your feelings," Sherman tried to placate his enraged father. He didn't have much of a chance. "You must also understand that antidepressants can be very helpful," Sherman contradicted. "Many thousand people are helped every year through the use of medication in accompaniment with cognitive therapy."

"You're not putting my son on that shit!" Bart insisted.

"Chuck may see the situation differently."

"I'm an adult right?" Chuck finally broke. "I get to make the choices?" He waited until the arguing stopped, until they both waited to hear his wishes. "I don't want a damn thing."

"Chuck," The doctor tried again. "You should reconsider."

"Nothing, not a thing."

Sherman nodded his head but it wasn't in pleasure. The doctor had put his best arguments forward and was still defeated, so he did the only thing a doctor could, he wrote _discharged against the advice of his physician_ and let things be.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric let his fingers trail along the rim of his now empty cup, other hand intertwined with the boy across. He genuinely felt better. "I just don't understand Bart. I mean can he actually do that? Cover everything up?"

"With the right power anything is possible," Damien propped his foot on the bar stool, knowing expression on his face.

"I just did think that Bart Bass would be so," Eric struggled for the word. "Permissive."

"Do you really think your stepbrother would have got that bad if his dad was rigid?" Damien pushed his foot higher.

"He's always pushing a certain standard, and he's so quick to reprimand. I mean in business he's ruthless."

"Enablers come in all shapes," Damien ran his hand down the counter. "My mother used to scream at Tom too, yell and rant, ground him for weeks until he finally just moved out. It didn't stop her from giving him money or stepping in to save him when he got too close to bottom."

"I just..."

"I used to do it too," Damien admitted. "It's easy to judge the situation, but it's far more difficult to live in it. When you love someone it creates a whole new level of confusion."

Eric nodded his head as his phone vibrated. He grabbed it from the table and pushed a button to receive his stepfather's text.

**Charles is awake now. He'll be discharged soon.**

Damien handed him his jacket before his boyfriend needed to say anything.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric sat silently through the ride home, watching the streetlights reflect through the tinted glass, chancing only the briefest glances at his older brother. Chuck sat on the side bench, white shirt still untucked and hanging over his mourning pants, suit jacket unbuttoned and throw hastily over. His brother's face had dimmed to a deeper grey, eyes staring blankly out the opposite window.

Something just wasn't right. There was no thank you, not even the pretence of discussion. There was no conversation at all. The only time Chuck spoke was when he thrust his wrist forward to expose his hospital band. "Can you cut this off," He asked his father and without a single comment, Bart did just that. He fished through a side compartment until he found a Swiss army knife, pocketing the bracelet as soon as it was free.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Later, his mother would ask Eric where he'd been all day. He'd explain that Chuck had a problem: no elaboration or detail divulged. Lily, who'd seen Blair's rant, would think she understood. Bart would nod and offer the same. Chuck would sleep for most of the next two days and they'd feign innocence as to the reason.

Eric would learn that favouring the Bass side meant being complacent in the deception.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The first thing Chuck did upon arriving home, before changing out of his bedraggled suit or even combing his hair, was to fish through the bathroom cabinets until he found the two prescription bottles. He'd arrived at a succinct conclusion the moment he awoke; Chuck Bass could never write his happily ever after. He could pretend, plan, plot and hope but in the end he'd still be nothing more than what he always was. So he uncapped each bottle, tossing the remnants of some fairytale dream into the open toilet. Some people were meant for sober living, to be reliable, dependable and consistent. It was obvious now that he wasn't that type and playing at it had nearly killed him. He pushed the handle and watched his aspirations swirl to final doom.

At least his liver wouldn't fail for another decade or two.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – Anyone want the return of textbook Chuck? A very special visitor is about to put EmoChuck to death :)

Modernmyth – thanks :)

Bluestriker – thanks :)

Sky Samuelle – I think I usually have Harold prefer C in my mind but right now he's on side Blair

Grantingtroyturner – Yeah, at least Bart is improving in his responses

Puresimplicity – I think Bart has changed a lot through these three stories. Of course I had started TH before his personality was fixed as a total SOB so I had more room to work with. Then he's been pushed and pulled right along with Chuck. I'll include the Dan/AJAX at some point I promise.

:D – thanks

CBEBTRtrory12 – feel free to bash Chuck all you want. He deserves it all. You're absolutely right, he keeps making bad choices.

BlackLace – I think this Bart is a lot different from the show. I explained why in the comment to Puresimplicity.

MidnightSky – thanks :)

Up Next – Finally we've got to Damien's opening. (It seems like it's been a week away for months). The next chapter opens with a letter.


	22. Chapter Nine Part One

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Nine – Part One**

_March 21, 2009_

_Blair,_

_I had intended this to be an apology but it ended somewhere else. How could an apology be sufficient, not just for breaking my promise but for everything that preceded it? You offered me a trust that I didn't deserve and I did the same as I've always done. I abused it. Instead of taking away your pain I added to it._

_I thought I could become a better person by being with you, that we could sort things out and start again. Things will never work that way. I bring nothing but grief to you and you have the potential to hurt me like no other. It's too volatile a combination to spawn anything but destruction._

_So I'm giving us freedom from each other. I will let you be._

_Chuck Bass_

Damien's show was a roaring success but Chuck always thought it would be. He had little eye for art but he knew, Georgina must have acquired something from her father besides her entire neurosis. The small gallery was packed to capacity, curious onlookers queuing outside, champagne being passed from room to room, and audience spanning the distinguished elite to the more Brooklyn normal. The artist had all the charisma needed to hold, the artwork enough talent to dazzle, and the rumours enough to scandalize. They all wanted to see the artist who had abandoned the West Side and a several thousand dollar publicity machine for a tiny gallery on the other. They were curious about the man who had stolen as his lover, one of their most promising sons.

They were all hunting for the answers but Damien held his silence. On his art work he was open; on his private life he was shut. His crowd ranged from the artistic critic to the gawker, those who came to study the greatest talent the artistic world had seen in a half century and those who came to gossip about his lover. Chuck could point out two freshman girls in the far left corner who had attended just to prove, despite all the evidence the prior year that Eric Van der Woodsen was in fact gay.

Chuck would find a way to soothe them later.

Chuck took a glass from the revolving trays, had it grabbed away before it could reach even halfway to his lips. Nate didn't replace it with anything. Usually they pushed a glass of orange juice or water on him, almost always lukewarm. His best friend must not have been feeling charitable. Chuck didn't bitch like he had at first, when the Van der Bass suite had been cleared, room 1812, even the Palace bar had been trained to refuse him. Now he was almost touched. It was slowly training him to stay sober, which was ironic because he no longer had the desire for it. Chuck was searching for the persona he'd abandoned at the end of his junior year, trying to find that illusive sense of comfort and of security that being Chuck Bass had always permitted him. It was paradoxical. Once he'd tired of trying to fit his square-shaped psyche into the round world his friends had gathered together to keep pushing. It almost made him wish he'd asked them first. Then he remembered what sobriety had ended in and grabbed at another tray, this time Serena swooping in to block.

He smirked at her growl of frustration. "You should finish it for me," Chuck leaned to whisper. "We could practice that growl later, turn it a little more guttural."

"You're gross!" She insisted but he could see the tug of her lips despite it. She was happy to have him back.

"I think I'll head over to look at the mixed media pieces," Chuck smirked further.

"So help me God Chuck, if you're going to the bar."

"You'll spank me later?" Chuck suggested as he sauntered off, blonde guardian angel trailing behind. He could have told her that he had no desire to drink. In a full room of people, with a hundred things to distract his hands and the thoughts that always lead him in that direction it wasn't difficult. Chuck had never drunk to be social. His demons were far more sinister than that. They attacked when he was alone. That's not to say that his friends hadn't helped because they had. So he grabbed another glass of champagne, waited for the stepsister to attack and readied his taunt. It was his way of making their support tangible.

The antagonizing potential was just an added bonus.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily knew they'd end up in here: Even if Bart had been in the other room instead of on an overnight trip to Los Angeles. She had expected Bart to drop it, to hang on her arm for this evening if no other. Her husband was giving her far too much freedom, letting out just enough rope. She heard the voice and knew Bart was letting her hang herself.

"Have you changed your mind?" Rufus asked.

"You're the one who ended it."

"I didn't want to continue the way we were."

Lily took a sip of her champagne and tilted her head. The truth was that Lily hadn't wanted to continue that way either. She'd tried to convince herself that it was a passing fancy, a dabble in the past. She should have known better. Rufus was the most intoxicating man she'd ever known and she didn't even understand why. He was far from worldly, bordered on the hypocritical, was attractive but not to the extent to make one lose reason, except she did lose all reason around him. She had as a teenager and the intermingling twenty years hadn't lessened his effect. "And what were we? What are we?"

"Need I remind you," Rufus explained. "That you're the one who came to me. You're the one who told me you still loved me and always had."

Lily wished she could discount the words, play it off as some miserable wife's ploy for attention. The problem was she wasn't that miserable with Bart, and those words, well they were the truth. "And you love me," it was more a statement than a question.

"Do you think I would have done any of what I did if I didn't love you?

"I know you wouldn't."

"So what are we?" Rufus reprompted her question. "I gave you a choice and I have yet to hear your answer."

"I'm not ready for divorce," Lily admitted.

"Why?" Rufus couldn't help but ask. "I know you're not afraid of hurting Bart."

"I _couldn't_ hurt him. Not really. He's still..."

"In love with Misty," Rufus supplied the truth. "So what is it?"

"My son adores him," Lily admitted and it was the truth except not all of it. Eric's threat hadn't been an idle one and Lily loved her son enough to abide by it. That didn't make it the entire truth of the situation and Rufus knew her enough to realize it. He knew her far too well.

"Is that truly the reason?"

"What else could there be?"

"You told me that you didn't love Bart," Rufus reminded her. "Was that the truth?"

The immediate affirmation died in her throat, causing not just surprise in her lover but also a bemused panic in Lily. She couldn't love her husband. She'd married him without a single butterfly, without that strange high of infatuation, with less romanticism than she'd even felt before. She'd married him because he offered the companionship she craved and the pinnacle of societal power. That's not to say that she loved Bart either. Lily loved Rufus Humphrey. He set her stomach aflame, reddened her cheeks with a single word, made her want to pour out her thoughts in a never ending string but her feelings for Bart, which had started out so neutral, could not longer be classified as such. When her husband had bended on one knee he hadn't gifted her just a second chance, he'd given her a chance to truly see him. She'd caught glimpses of that man throughout the last year of marriage, but that moment had started something she couldn't quite define. She knew it wasn't love but it was far from indifference and until she understood it she wasn't ready to let it go. Lily didn't know how to put it to words but once she looked at Rufus she understood that she didn't need to. Her first love understood her enough to gauge the world by her look.

Rufus shook his head at the finality of her choice. He was the one who presented it and he was the one who had to accept it. "That's all I needed to know."

Lily nodded her own head in thanks.

Rufus fully intended to leave his office without a backward glance but he just couldn't help but add one last comment. "You shouldn't give up on being loved," Rufus said with a glance towards her shoes "because you are so worthy of it."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck threw the gallery doors open, escaping into the frigid March air. He tucked his suit jacket closer to his body, grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He learned last year that God had a twisted sense of humour but this exceeded the material for even a twisted laugh. Though, if he were honest, it wasn't entirely chance that he'd happened upon Lily's conversation. He'd been trailing her the entire evening, trusting that she'd find a chance to scurry off to her paramour.

God he hated being right! He took a deeper drag and tried to blink the red circles away. How dare they talk about his father in that manner? How dare they discuss his family at all? Chuck's hand trembled as he took another inhalation of poison air. He must have cut quite the figure standing there, literally shaking with the force of his anger. He tried to take a deep breath but it was chased away with his thoughts that darkened until he crushed his cigarette without meaning to. Chuck threw it to the ground and lit another. His mind was crafting plots before he felt the hand, a simple gesture on his back that he flinched from.

"Let's take a walk," Nate suggested. "You've made the necessary appearance."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair sat at her mother's desk while the rest of the Upper East Side slummed it in Brooklyn. She wore a pair of high waisted shorts and a plain pink top. Her mother's paperwork was laid across the antique surface, prints and contracts, figures and charcoal drawings. Her father had sat with her seven days in a row, explaining what he could and calling her mother's assistant to explain the rest. He'd left a couple hours ago. Harold was arranging a flight for his lover. He'd been hesitant to suggest it at first, but Blair wholeheartedly approved. She didn't expect her father to abandon his entire life. The selflessness had startled them both.

Upstairs lay the Paris original that had been sent in thanks. It was a slim cut, empire waited pinstriped skirt. It lay on the edge of her bed, crumpled invitation balled at its side. Blair had been invited to Damien's opening. Dan had forwarded the invitation to her, complete with a personalized note on the insert. She had planned to attend until she'd received that bouquet of roses. They were traditional red, a dozen flowers complete with a card. Blair had put them on the table, not even bothering to read the note. Eleanor's wake was the week prior but flowers were still trickling in from distant acquaintances.

She never considered they were from him until her father pressed the card into her hand. It was addressed to her. She knew they were from him when she saw the script, small letters perfectly spaced. The writing didn't suit him. Chuck Bass should have had flowing script too messy to be legible. Then she wouldn't be able to read the words that had gutted her through.

Her first instinct had been to call him, to show up at his home and contest his claims. How could she? They'd been playing the game of cat and mouse for three months, no closer to arriving at any conclusion. She'd wanted to deny his words on the premise of their prior relationship. She wanted to deny his words on any premise. She wanted to find some hope for them because even the thought of giving up ripped through with an unmendable gash.

The problem was she knew he was right. Blair couldn't envision a way that _they_ would work. They had too many competing needs, too many harmful coping mechanisms. They always met in shared longing, the blissful idea that each offered the other actual understanding. It never lasted. Their needs competed, their desires taking from the other but never offering enough in return. They were both too unhealthy to support the other. And yet Chuck had finally made the healthy choice: nourishing himself by ending the could have beens. He finally opened enough to speak honestly, enough to slam the door shut. Blair brushed clumsily at her tears, sorted her mother's paperwork and tried to focus on those problems. She'd make the healthy choice as well. She'd abide by his wishes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck lay on the park bench, cigarette dangling from the edge. The skies were surprisingly clear by New York standards. Once could catch the sight of faintly twinkling stars through the shallow fog of city life. He stared up at them and contemplated wishing on one. He took another puff of his cigarette instead. What the hell was left to wish for? Nate sat on the bench across, legs pulled beneath him. "So what did he do?" Chuck called into the night air.

"I think my dad's meltdown equalled anything Elea..." Nate corrected himself. "He worked himself to such a state; I'm surprised he didn't drop of a heart attack."

"How much did UCLA offer you?"

"It's a full ride scholarship," Nate admitted. "And based on how angry my father was, I might need it to pay the bills."

Chuck laughed. "You should have told him from the beginning."

"He doesn't understand. He just wants me to go to Dartmouth, continue the family tradition. I just want to play lacrosse."

"So you're going to take it?"

"I don't know. I'd like to but..."

"Then you should. Everyone should be disowned at least once."

"I wish my dad was like yours. Have you even decided on a school?"

Chuck took another drag of his cigarette, slight smirk chasing away his scowl. "What school would want me?"

"Serena's going to Brown."

"I know that. My father financed the transaction."

"Hmm."

"Dartmouth is closer."

"Yeah," Nate admitted. "That is one of the reasons I'm leaning towards UCLA."

Chuck sat up at that, swinging his legs over the metal bench to touch the cement below. The wind brushed through his dark locks, clearing his already clear mind. "You want to get away from Serena?"

"Maybe, no, I mean Serena's great. She's always been great!"

"But."

"It's just that, you know, she's kind of boring." It took a supernatural effort for Chuck to keep his laughter in check. He couldn't offer a reply. It wasn't possible. He was too occupied with keeping his lips pressed firmly together. "All we ever do is watch television or go to movies."

"And have sex," Chuck said after a deep breath.

"Yeah, and that's great but it's not enough. It's just that, when I was with Blair we always seemed to be doing stuff. There were lots of occasions, society functions and stuff like that. We were always out and about." _And you hated every single one of them,_ Chuck had to hold the comment again, _used to bitch about then and whine that you'd much prefer; wait for it, a movie_. "I guess I just miss that."

Chuck took another drag of his cigarette and considered butting it on his friend's hand. Something had to pull Nate from his self-centredness. All those things his best friend was complaining about, his best friend embodied them all.

"I used to watch a lot of movies with Vanessa but it was different." Nate started again. "She always had all these interesting comments about them, you know, discussing theme or why they framed a scene a particular way. It made it seem like so much more than just watching a movie."

Chuck inched the cigarette closer to the blonde's perfect skin before dragging it back. "Nathaniel," He spoke instead. "Trust me; there are few people in this world better suited for one another than you and Serena."

"You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so," Chuck said. "You two are exactly alike." _You both had the attention span of a neutered cocker spaniel pup_.

"Yeah," Nate shook his head. "I'm sure you're right."

Chuck measured the unconvinced look on Nate's face and gave the relationship another three weeks. How was it that Nate and Blair had managed years? It was evidently all Blair.

"How about you?" Nate suddenly shifted tracks, as if finally realizing he hadn't asked Chuck that all evening. Nate had been too busy talking about himself for the last hour. Chuck didn't mind though.

"What about me?"

"How are you doing?"

Chuck took another drag on his cigarette, wishing for the umpteenth time that night that it was something stronger. How _was_ he doing? _His stepmother was is love with another man, he'd just kissed off his only chance for love because he was too screwed up to make it work, and he was far too sober and sane to mention either_. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Nate played with his own hands and Chuck realized his friend was dying for a hit too. Nate wouldn't do it. The blonde had decided not only to cease all drinking around Chuck, but smoking up too. It was part of the whole support structure. "Have you talked to Blair since last week?"

Chuck arched his back, eyes dipping to dark before he answered. "There's really not much to talk about."

"Whatever it was," Nate kicked on long leg over the other. "I'm sure you'll work it out.'

"No," Chuck contradicted. "I won't."

"You two can never stay angry..."

"Nathaniel," Chuck took another drag of his cigarette. "Let me be succinct. Blair and I are done, have been done for a while and I have no intent on changing it."

Nate's first instinct was to refute but he couldn't. It was in the way his best friend said it. Chuck drawled but the sentiment was apparent by his unshaken glare.

The blonde nearly asked for a cigarette of his own.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – this will be the last update for a little while (probably until after Spring Break). I'm behind in my work and need to get caught up so no writing at the moment. For the record, Georgina is __**not**__ coming back._

_Nostaliakills – yeah, another new reviewer! I agree with you that Blair probably should have had a worse time of it but she has her father who she loves and who I adore to help her through it._

_Bradshawesque – I think if Eric had been Chuck's brother from birth that he would be just fine now. E is definately helping him in that direction as it is. As is Bart. I'm also still sad that they killed off Bart (worst decision that GG ever made)_

_Annablake – it's okay, the character that's coming could be defined as lightening :) I should say that Chuck has been genuinely working with Sherman beyond just popping pills. There was just no way for me to show their therapy sessions without revealing everything. I agree with you, everything needs to be out in the open for Chuck to truly get the help he needs._

_Sky Samuelle – Yeah, Rufus is just a diehard romantic who thinks that Lily will leave Bart for him. In this story they never had that moment before the wedding so it's not like this is the second time through for that._

_BlackLace – I find it really hard to write about infidelity and I'm torn about making either of them sympathetic because I hate cheating. So I've probably stayed a little too far back._

_CBEBTRtrory – I don't think I'll miss EmoChuck either. I'm ready to put him to death._

_Bluestriker – thanks :)_

_Midnight Sky – Lewis is pretty busy getting ready to defend her PhD but she will be in New York for reading break which is this coming week in story time. She won't get to stay long though. Right now Bart is trying to cover up that Chuck OD'd so as of now Blair had no way of knowing._

_Puresimplicity – I've been working on an AJAX scene and as of right now it's got Vanessa in it too._

_Courtney – yeah, another new reviewer. Alas there was no CB except in the letter._

_Up Next – Chuck lashes out at one and gets lashed back at twice as hard. He finds an important ally and we finally get the story of what his family was like before his mother committed suicide, straight from Chuck's mouth._


	23. Chapter Nine Part Two

**Grand Romantic Gestures **

**Chapter Nine – Part Two**

The entire Van der Bass family was gathered in the main room, the addition of Damien Allenby the only aberration from protocol. For a boy who had once been banned by secrecy, Damien was becoming a regular accompaniment to the rest of the family, though he tended to dart in and out in the escort of Eric rather than staying for dinner or drinks. It had been three days since the opening, the positive reviews washing the young artist in self-congratulations. Damien hardly showed the effect, but then again, he had always been arrogant. Eric, dutiful boyfriend that he was, insisted on reading every single article for the gathered company. Lily preened with her own pride, for it had been her ingenuity that had offered the boy a second chance. She let her fingers rest on her husband's thigh, trilled merrily as he whispered something into her ear. To their side Serena kept up an excited chatter to match her brother, blonde curls bouncing back and forth as she judged photos and checked by-lines.

With the exception of one they were the picture of the happy family, some dark and other light but all reflected dimpled smiles and bright eyes. If Chuck had chosen to stay away they might have presented the perfect family portrait, but the sole Bass child had enough darkness to colour the rest grey. He'd argued with the wait staff, insisted they crack a bottle of champagne from the locked cabinet. Not for him. He held his glass of Perrier as he once held his scotch, he twisted it from right to left, let it swirl and slow. He knew enough not to talk. On one level he was happy too. He might never like Damien but he wouldn't wish failure on someone so important to his brother. His anger was not directed that way. It was on his stepmother's hand, her perfectly rounded nails that rested so peacefully on his father's wool pinstriped pants. Chuck took a deep breath and tried again to feel the merriment around him. For a moment he almost let go, but then Lily's hand moved from Bart's thigh to the side of his face. Chuck watched her trace the length of his father's sideburn and he saw red, the burning poison that blinded him from the outside in. He tipped the glass back and pondered who would speak first if he asked for something stronger.

Chuck's phone rang and he couldn't rip his eyes away from the scene to check the caller id. He put it to his ear and intoned his greeting. The reply was formal, speaking his name in full and Chuck smiled for the first time that evening. He stood without explanation, was in his room before he asked the question he'd been waiting to since the private eye called him back. "Have you located my stepmother's former lover?"

"Yes, Mr. Bass. I'm forwarding the information to you now."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Humphrey loft was half in darkness and half in light. The kitchen was awash in light, every single one turned on to lighten all the old wood corners where dirt and other unmentionables might linger. There was no dirt and the unmentionables were only in Dan's mind. He was dressed in ripped sweats and an old t-shirt, the uniform for cleaning the kitchen. It was sparkling before he started, having been washed six times in as many days. In the far room Rufus sat in darkness, hiding his long face behind shadows and his thoughts behind a guitar pick. His continuous strumming provided a repetitive soundtrack for both rooms. When the bell rang neither Humphrey moved to answer. It took three rings before Rufus set the guitar aside and moved to it.

Vanessa could smell the Ajax the moment the door opened, eyes rolling on instinct at Dan's poorly disguised freak out. She tossed her green carry bag on the growing pile of junk and kicked off her ballet flats. She preceded Rufus into the kitchen; let her toes stamp angrily at Dan's face until he looked up. "I think you're stripping the colour from your cabinets."

Rufus shook his head in agreement from behind. He didn't move back to the living room but grabbed his keys instead. "Can you talk to him about his strange cleaning fixation?" Rufus nearly begged as they both stared down at the younger Humphrey. "Or else suggest he switch to the bathroom."

"I'll try," Vanessa smiled at the father; let her toes stamp uncomfortably close to her best friend's fingers as the older man fled the suite.

"I'll be done in fifteen," Dan assured her with another swipe at the bucket.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Vanessa dropped all pretence when the door shut.

"I just want things to be tidy."

"Get over it!"

"Don't you think I'm trying? I don't even understand why it is bothering me this much. So you slept with..." Dan's arms did an involuntary flap, "God, I can't get over it."

"Maybe I should have filmed it," Vanessa suggested with an arch of her brow. "Then I could have forced you to watch it until you were desensitised."

"Ewww," Dan spat out and dropped another dusting of Ajax. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Vanessa had to suppress the snort. "I had sex with Chuck Bass," She taunted her best friend as he pulled away. "Right here, right on your kitchen floor."

"Must you do that?" Dan stood up.

"Must you freak out about it so much?"

"I just can't help it! It's like I can't stop thinking about it. It's driving me crazy and I don't even know why."

"I think I have an idea." Vanessa interjected but her best friend was too far gone on his personal rant to notice.

"You don't even know how much sleep I have lost over this. How many nightmares I have had, and not just at night, I actually daydreamed about you two during Mr. Fraser's class last week."

"I'm flattered," Vanessa assured in a voice that was anything but.

Dan stared his best friend in the eye, brown eyes studying violet for the missing piece of his mind. "Do you actually think Chuck Bass can cause someone to lose their mind?" Vanessa just bit her lip at the thought. She wasn't sure Chuck could cause anyone to lose anything, aside from their panties apparently. "The two of you have become my personal obsession. I have never been this bothered by anything before." Dan promised, pushing closer to her in his emphasis. "I can't stop thinking about you and him. About you..." Then he had his answer, it was hiding somewhere in her violet depths. He could not be this obsessed if he was not passionately preoccupied with Vanessa herself. So he closed the last inches of distance and kissed her full on the mouth.

She let him kiss her. After all, aside from her tryst with Chuck it'd been months since she'd had anything regular and Dan Humphrey was nothing if not an exceedingly good kisser. He taunted, tasted and delighted at all the right angles. So Vanessa let him lead her, let herself experience the moment until his hands crept from her chin downward, dragging thin white powder across her purple blouse to the edge of her skinny black jeans. Then she put a finger to his lips and shoved her best friend back. "That ship sailed like sixteen months ago."

Dan racked a hand through his hair, painting his brown locks a chemical white. "Are you kidding me?"

"You're really got to stop kissing me," Vanessa put a hand to her blouse, patting away the evidence of his pursuit. "You're good enough at it that I might just take you on the floor as well."

"God, did you have to say that?"

"Just tell me that was it," Vanessa interjected knowingly.

"What was what?"

"That you really wanted me."

Dan took a deep breath and considered her words. He stared his best friend down, she was a very desirable woman, of that there was little doubt. She had stunning bone structure, a waifish figure that was still feminine in all the essentials and above all an intellect that would tempt more than the rest. Dan could have matched her unbreathless suggestion but it wasn't desire for her that motivated his uncomfortable fanaticism. "It's not you."

Vanessa tried not to be insulted but she couldn't help the next jab. "Maybe you have a man crush on Chuck and you're actually jealous of me."

All the blood drained from Dan's face at the thought. "Oh my god! Do you think that's it?"

Vanessa couldn't help the laughter this time. It spilled forth in unmanageable giggles that contorted her face and had her grabbing her sides to keep upright. "You're gullible too," She added once the breath returned to her lungs.

"Sod off!" Dan slapped her arm and Vanessa laughed again. "Some help you are!"

"Do you want to know what it is?" Vanessa calmed enough to speak frankly.

"Do you know how much I hate cleaning the kitchen?"

"Then put the tools away and brew me some tea instead."

Dan complied with the request, returned the bucket and mop to their usually unopened corner. He grabbed the kettle from atop the fridge and filled it with water. Vanessa used the minutes to collect her thoughts, to organize the speech she knew Dan wouldn't want to hear. She'd hinted at it enough, thrown the truth out in insults that he shook off as readily as all insults ought to be. By the time the raspberry tea was pressed into her hands Vanessa was convinced he'd be no more open to listening this time. It wouldn't stop trying her from trying.

"So what is it?" Dan poured some honey into his own cup. He had forgone his regular coffee for a cup of the calming liquid.

"My sleeping with Chuck doesn't fit into your preconceived, narrow minded, cookie cutter, and stereotypical way of viewing the world."

"Excuse me!"

"If I was crying on your shoulder about it, if I was burdened with extraordinary guilt about my little tryst then it would be alright. But I'm not going to and I'm not. I don't feel bad about what happened and placed in the same situation again I might make the same choice."

"How can you say that? Are you in love with Chuck? Or do you like him?" Dan backtracked considerably.

"Would that make it better for you?"

"Well, I guess..."

"The answer is no and no."

"I just don't understand how you can be okay with sleeping with that. You know what he did to Jenny."

"I do."

"How."

"Dan. I know what you're trying to do. Everything is so black and white to you. Chuck is black and I have been, until now, blissfully white. Black and white can't mix so either Chuck has to change to white or I need to change to black."

"That's ridicul..." Dan started then faltered with the shocking realization that everything she said was entirely true.

"Welcome to the shades of grey," Vanessa put a hand to her best friend's arm. "Where life actually exists: where married people have affairs" (she wasn't even going to mention his avoidance of that particular issue) "and where two people can have sex and have it just be about that."

"I just..."

"I know. It makes life far more complex." Vanessa ran a finger along her tea cup and downed a mouthful. "It's a good kind of complex though."

"I guess..." Dan paused with his cup in midair, thoughts overwhelming him for the moment.

"So do you want to have sex now?" Vanessa suggested just to watch Dan's face go pale again. "Just kidding," Her smile broke before he could start to sweat.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck eyed the clean linens and smiled. He ran a finger along the silver place settings and marvelled at his ability to manipulate a situation to suit. There were six plates, six knives, six spoons and five wine glasses. It was a pity. He wouldn't be able to toast his success. His father might have turned out to be a spineless jellyfish but Lily Van der Woodsen wouldn't find the stepson to be the same.

"Is everything ready?" Chuck threw the comment to a maid who appeared.

"Yes Mr. Bass." The maid didn't even look as she replied, too intent on fluffing the centerpiece.

Chuck nearly suggested they replace it with a mirror. Lily ought to stare at her reflection when his guest arrives; the thought bringing a dark smirk to his face. His father might be the forgiving type but not all of Lily's former husbands could be considered such. Based on Eric's frank discussion of his second stepfather, some men could be outright pitiless. Chuck put a hand to his suit, crossing the jacket as his smirk spread. It had been an easy thing, to convince Lily's second husband Claus to join them for dinner: luck had him not only in New York but more sympathetic then Eric's words had suggested. It had taken only one conversation, the earnest assurance that both Eric and Serena missed Claus, for the man to be swayed. Then again, Chuck could bend a three hundred year old tree like a newborn leaf.

Lily was going to see it tonight. She was going to understand that her stepson was not some weak boy that could manipulated and lied to. She was going to understand his power and if she had any sense, she's let it influence her right out the door. The doorbell ran and his smirk spread to a grin, one that dripped with darkened contentment.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The meeting was at the law offices of Cyrus Rose. For a man who had so little taste in life his office was a remarkably well situated. It hung out over Park Avenue, bamboo growing from one wall, another engulfed by an artificial waterfall. It was entirely too sophisticated to have been his choice. Blair decided to ask for the name of his decorator after the meeting. She fixated on it to ignore her real purpose in being her. Cyrus had been many things to Eleanor Waldorf but first of all he was her lawyer. Sitting here, in lush leather chairs and watching Cyrus speak with two of his colleagues it was hard to forget. Harold was sitting beside her, Roman, half from necessity and half from respect, was regaled to one corner. Her father threaded his fingers through hers.

Thirty minutes. They swore the reading of the will would take only thirty minutes. After that, she had plans with Serena and Nate at 1Oak. She was going to have a round of cocktails and put an end stamp on something. Cyrus cleared his throat and Harold tightened his hold on her.

It was gong to be predictable. It had to be predictable. Most of the Waldorf money came through Harold and though Eleanor had amassed her fortune since going public it would still pale in comparison to Blair's trust. She listened to the distribution of assets, the townhouse that would remain in her name, the thousands put aside for Dorota (it was only fitting), the artwork, the jewellery and every small thing that was worth more than she had ever realized. It was all as it ought to be, excepting that set aside for charity, the bits for Cyrus and Harold (small portions for both men had their own fortunes), it all passed from mother to daughter.

Then came the fate of Eleanor Waldorf Designs. It would be liquidated, the drop in stock already predicting that conclusion. Her mother might have loved her company, it might have risen to new heights in the last year, but there could be no Eleanor Waldorf Design without its figurehead. They had the drawings, the plans for the spring and summer shows but nothing beyond. Blair could feel the tears prick her eyes at the dissolution of both her mother's dreams and Eleanor's greatest love.

_Controlling interest in Eleanor Waldorf Designs passes in full to her daughter Blair Cornelia Waldorf._

Blair snapped to her father. "I thought they were dissolving the company!"

"There were no provisions for it in the will." Harold admitted. "But we can proceed that way if it is your wish."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The entire family was gathered when Chuck made his entrance. His guest was late and if Claus had not called him fifteen minutes prior Chuck would have believed the older man thought better of the entire scheme. Chuck pulled at his bowtie, adjusting it until it was perfectly straight. He could feel his family eyes on him as he took his seat. He took the empty seat beside Eric, leaving the other empty seat cleared for their guest, beside Lily and across from his stepsister.

"Who have you invited for dinner?" His father asked before the son was fully situated.

"Family," Chuck took his napkin and opened it with flourish. He left his answer deliberately vague as he placed the white cloth into his lap.

"Jack?" His father guessed and Chuck was surprised to hear the barely hidden excitement fight through his father's reticence. Chuck mentally gave him a point for trying. It was a logical choice. He'd been working with his uncle for months by now. Then again, Jack wouldn't make an appearance here under penalty of divorce.

"I didn't say _my _family," Chuck's smile grew as the doorbell rang. The questions stopped as their answer emerged. The servant announced Klaus Ostheim to the room and from behind the door came a tall and sinewy man of forty-five. Chuck's wicked grin didn't even falter, not as his stepmother's face grew pale, his own father enraged, his stepsister shocked. Lily's ex pressed a bottle of Chardonnay into her hands and she nearly dropped. A servant grabbed it in time, instantly removing it from the room. She stared to her husband, and Bart stared right at him. It didn't make Chuck nervous; he was riding high on a cloud of self-justification. He could have made the entire familial circuit without a splinter in it but a crack when his eyes met Eric: his brother was as infuriated as his father but there was another emotion threaded fully through. The youngest Van der Woodsen was betrayed, Chuck has used a trusted confidence to his own nefarious ends. For a moment Chuck felt the guilt but he covered it with a question and a scuff of his chair.

Chuck stabbed at his cherry tomato, chewing deliberately slow. He let the rest of the company adjust for his silence, watched them struggle for small talk. He focussed on his chewing, forcing another forkful before a question could be put to him. He chewed so he couldn't laugh. Lily was positively horrified, her usual poise and elegance reduced to flapping like a lower class secretary introduced to the King of England. He took another forkful and waited for his moment. He paused until the room regained their focus. Bart took over, a history in business enabling him to communicate with even the most unwelcome of men. Chuck paused until peace was restored and then struck.

"It must be odd to see Lily married again." Chuck managed with a polite smile. His smile didn't even falter as Eric stomped on his foot from the side.

"Not at all," Klaus took a sip of his juice and laughed. "Lily is an extraordinary woman."

The response was far too polite for Chuck's liking. He hid his disappointment behind a sip of water. According to Eric, Claus was a raging cyclone in the after effect of Lily's betrayal. He wasn't this polite. There must be a way to push to the former situation. Chuck put a hand to his fork and debated. Then Claus spoke and Chuck realized he was never going to reach the conclusion he had hoped for.

"I had planned to be husband number four," Klaus laughed further. "But destiny has other plans."

"You never married Lily?" Chuck choked slightly on the thought.

"No, I never had that luxury. It was too bad, I was _so_ fond of the entire family," He smiled at both of Chuck's stepsiblings and the lechery in one made Chuck slip down in his chair. The man kept rambling but Chuck stopped listening. He rubbed his eyes and waved a maid over, discretely removing three of the seven courses he'd ordered. He tried to keep his eyes from the rest of the table but they didn't keep from him. His father was slowly turning red at the collar and Chuck could feel his tighten in response. He pulled and shifted in his seat, the fury that had sparked this meal being slowly drowned by self-reproach.

Serena was on the verge of tears by the time the dessert plates were cleared, and the wrong Klaus was ushered out with polite forcefulness. Chuck hadn't said a thing since the second course, had reduced himself to observer of the hurricane he'd created. The apology was on his lips and if his actions hadn't been so purposeful they'd have been expressed by the time his father yelled. Bart didn't even attempt to moderate his response. His voice rose to a screaming height before he touched his son. This time there was no hand on the arm to calm it, no pointed look to suggest the father not heap such abuse on the son. They all stood back. Chuck sat still at the dining table, eyes stuck stationary until his father touched him. "In the study!" Bart yelled again and Chuck stood stiffly. He buttoned his coat with practiced poise, pushed his hair flat and marched without a look at anyone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – so it was a week earlier than I thought but I hate to cut the rest because I was over 6000 words and not even done yet. Expect one more part of Chapter Nine where Chuck finally gets his heart to heart._

_Wigbee – Yeah, lots of people dislike my interpretation of Serena. Personally I can only stretch my imagination so far with her. I think I rolled my eyes when they said she got into Brown. How did she get into an Ivy League school without the school being paid (and Lily would have paid in this story but Bart has more money)? Legacy or not Serena comes across as of ordinary intelligence to me (smarter than Nate though). I don't buy the lazy excuse they tried to offer up because she seems so clueless in general. She lacks common sense and is so easily manipulated by others. I have yet to see an inkling of intelligence and I didn't buy their attempt to show it with Ms. Carr anymore than Dan's sudden shift to Yale because the entire staff of Dartmouth moved to Yale (yeah right!). That's not to say I dislike Serena either because I think she can be truly loving and considerate too. But I can only suspend my disbelief about a character's intelligence to one per story (and I have to suspend it for Chuck here though I think at least he's shown himself to be smart in other situations). This interpretation of Serena is going to get a future set for her._

_bluestriker – thanks :)_

_modernxxmyth – I think by the time Blair would hear about Chuck's OD it would be a moot point._

_annablake – I hope you still like Chuck after the stunt he pulled here. I couldn't resist having Nate find Serena boring (oh the twisted irony in that statement)._

_CBEBTR – NS is not over right now. We'll see what happens between those two. There's a big shake up coming in a few chapters._

_Bradshawesque – Blair is still integrated with Serena & Nate, she's just a bit preoccupied at the moment. By the way, I laughed so hard at the idea of Rufus strumming his guitar in the dark that I had to make it happen in this chapter._

_nostalgiakills – thanks :)_

_puresimplicityXO – Yeah, I think Chuck would like to be over Blair but we both know that's not going to happen anytime soon._

_SilkBone922 – Thanks :) I tried to put some more effort into the Rufus-Lily dynamic even though the idea of infidelity still bothers me so much._

_Up Next – Furious fathers lead to falling outs, twenty-four hour sushi and discussions of family._


	24. Chapter Nine Part Three

He'd been summoned to that room a thousand times since he was old enough to remember. It changed venues, went from shades of green to brown and finally red. The furniture was shifted from one side to another, realism replaced scenery, portraits outstripping photographs, platinum ornaments replacing gold which had replaced silver. There was a story in the transformations, and one time, when his father's lecture had been particularly long, Chuck had thought of putting it to paper. Then he remembered he wasn't some fucking poet. So he stood and took it instead, the repetitive nature of the soliloquy offering common strategies of avoidance: nod and ignore, daydream and defy.

Except those strategies weren't working like they normally did. He tried to fixate on the chandelier to the right but his eyes kept betraying him, kept drifting back to his father's face, forcing him to fully digest the infuriated red. He tried to deafen his ears but the words still slipped through, not as they once had, unbroken sentences, he heard every damning thought. The entire world was flipped upside down and he was left grasping at the edge, trying to pull himself back up onto the known. Then his father asked the question and Chuck let go, dove head first into something new.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Bart yelled at his son.

"Me?" Chuck screamed right back. "You're wondering what I am thinking. What are you thinking? Did you actually think I would accept Lily after what she's done? How the hell can you accept her?"

"That is my business."

"When you try to pass her off as my mother, it becomes my business. Do you really think that I want some liar as a replacement for _my _mother?"

"Chuck, you don't know what you're saying," Bart tried to contain his tone but it wasn't possible. "I'm not asking you to replace Misty."

"Then what was that little display the morning of Eleanor's funeral about?"

"We just thought that if..."

"Let's get something clear. I am never going to accept a cheating, lying, adulterous whore as my mother."

His father took two quick steps forward and Chuck waited. By the second step it had ceased being about Lily at all, but Chuck would never know that. He couldn't now. Chuck shut his eyes, clenched his jaw and waited for his father to hit him first. It was fitting. He deserved it. It didn't come. Bart took two steps back instead, his words turning as fierce as a fist might have. "I gave Lily a choice. She chose to be a part of this family. I'm going to offer you the same choice. You are an adult now. If you can't accept this family as it is then you need to find a home of your own." Bart didn't wait for the answer; he walked out, throwing the door shut behind him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The flashing bulbs of 1Oak reflected off her martini glass, creating little splinters of red and blue on her cup for one. Blair checked her watch, noted that Serena was now thirty minutes late. It was nothing new. The blonde had no sense of time but on that day, of all days, Blair wished her best friend could discover some reliability. Blair had to backtrack that thought. Serena had been there for her since it happened. Far better then other people she decided, giving her glass another spin and then downing it in a single sip. The bartender was back before she heard his voice, her glass filled to the brim before she turned to spy Nate. Blair's momentary smile dipped when she noted the blonde was a group of one. She grabbed the deep green olive and bit it between her pursed lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Nate took the free seat beside her.

"We're one closer to the full party," Blair snapped once she'd swallowed.

"Serena isn't coming," Nate offered in as apologetic tone as the blonde could muster.

"Well," Blair waved at the bartender for Nate's regular import.

"I hope you don't mind me. I didn't want you to be alone."

Blair raised a brow at the thought. It was very nearly sympathetic, thoughtful even. Apparently dating Serena had done wonders for her ex. "I guess you'll have to do," Blair didn't hide her disappointment. She wasn't about to feed that well nourished ego.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was bundled around a large beige pillow when she finally allowed her brother entrance. Her eyeliner was curled down one cheek and she looked uncharacteristically upset. For a girl who could draw happiness out of the most challenging situation, her sadness was unnerving.

"Are you okay?" Eric took the vacant space beside her.

"I'm fine," Serena spoke with an angry exhalation that didn't match her tearstained cheeks. "He's just as disgusting a pervert as ever. I can't believe our mother considered marrying him."

"Serena," Eric's lips twitched. "Our mother married a man who carried a man purse and threaded _darling_ through every sentence."

Serena couldn't help but laugh, her disgust dissolving into amusement. "Her gaydar ought to have caught that one."

"It never worked on me," Eric reminded his sister.

"You don't favour neon colours."

"Or drive a tiny pink sports car."

"Or sport more chest hair than an African llama.

"I think you're going to be alright," Eric decided.

"I told you so."

"Weren't you supposed to meet Blair?"

"Nate's with her."

"Could you do something for me?" Eric asked.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck's shoes didn't sound as they slipped across the lush carpeting. The silence of the hall wasn't reflected within, the purity of the white door held only without. The gleaming numbers showed his retreat, his shaking fingers showing how much it was needed. He divested himself of the suit jacket, tossing it onto the floor. He walked through the main room, disappearing into the back.

He grabbed at his keys and flipped through the few until he reached a smallest, a tiny gold key that opened an equally small cabinet in the bedroom. It's where he kept all his files, proof of his uncle's talents and their gradually expanding business ventures. He pushed past the proposals, the business plan his uncle had forced him to write prior to incorporation, the contracts and even the notes. He pushed until he reached the back and the sole bottle he'd stashed there. Dr. Sherman had warned him about that, it was inherently dangerous to hold temptation close. Chuck hadn't listened. Somehow having a bottle of scotch was comforting to him, like a security blanket or a seventh floor fire escape. If life ever got to be too much it was there. It was still sealed, proof that he'd been managing the last couple weeks.

A crack later he had it on the counter, jaw clenched from side to side, and eyes straight forward until they bled into the far wall. He could feel his father's words wash over him, jaw spasming as they did, eyes clenched automatically shut. He felt down the cool of the bottle; let his fingers graze the mouth before beginning to pour. He kept his eyes closed until half of the bottle was down the drain, then he opened them and watched the last of his damming escape disappear. The tears started before the task was through but he wasn't sad. He felt many things but not sadness. He was afraid. A terrifying, petrifying emotion that told him he'd have to feel everything now. He'd emptied away his last chance for avoidance.

It was tempting to fall from the tracks but it was also just too cyclical. It was the same pattern, fighting with his father, drinking away the feelings it instigated. He had never seen it as clearly as the moment his key unlocked 1812, when he remembered every other night that had started this way and ended in half consciousness. He either broke the pattern or drank himself to death. Unfortunately he hadn't replaced his survival technique with another. He clawed angrily at his tears. They didn't qualify. They didn't help. He was damned tired of crying. Of washing his pale face until his legs weakened. The tile floor was next, uncushioned against his falling body. He put hand to the counter to slow his descent, put his head to the cabinetry once he reached it, and took three steady breaths. He wanted to feel proud of his accomplishment but it was hard when the swirling darkness existed regardless of the fact that he'd done _the right thing._

No one would be coming up this time. He needed Eric but he remembered how the blonde had glared. He grabbed his cell. If he stayed here he'd slowly go insane. A bang of his head later and he touched the scrolling bar, tried to latch onto someone. He'd hurt his family enough that evening, he'd let them be. His aunt and uncle didn't need further reasons to hate his father. He couldn't quite imagine crying on one of his so called friend's shoulders. He scrolled through a hundred numbers, most empty vessels. Then he noticed one and without a second thought hit send.

"Hello?" It came as more of a gasp and Chuck was distracted momentarily by what exactly his former school teacher might have been doing. Then the unearthly screech filled the airways and his thoughts turned far more honest. "Jesus Christ!" the unmuffled curse was followed shortly by dropping of the phone. "Two billion dollars," Lewis whined herself as she retook the phone "and they can't even hire a consultant to childproof the house."

"Is now a bad time?"

_"Would you like me to take the baby?"_ Another voice called through the child's wrecking sobs. Lewis retorted that not only was her son not a baby but she was perfectly capable. Chuck put the phone from his ear and waited for the child to calm. Once he had, Lewis turned back to her call. "Charles?" The only response was silence. "Are you there?" He tried to speak, he truly did but all he could manage was the most inopportune crack. "Are you alright? Where are you?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was seriously debating the fourth drink. The entire room was already abuzz with the slow, soft lull of intoxication and she was already far too close to saying far too much. It was easy to do with Nate. He just sat there, so silent that eventually you said whatever was on your mind just to fill the blankness. If you added the fact that he was the last to judge, well it was a deadly combination. "Can I tell you something?" Blair ran the olive from one side of the glass to the other.

"You can tell me anything."

"A part of me is happier than before, and I know it's entirely wrong to feel that way but I can't help it. Living with my father, it's so much easier than living with my mother ever was. Even Roman," Blair gave another swipe of green through the clear liquid. "He's a strange kind of wonderful. He's bought me an entire new wardrobe since arriving. It's amazing what guilt can do," Blair finished with a smile that died the instant she remembered her earlier context.

Nate slipped his hand through hers. "Since you've been so honest, then maybe I could tell you something."

"Yes," Blair gave his hand a squeeze.

"When I first heard the news," Nate's eyes dropped to him import beer. "I thought it might have been my dad and that didn't scare me like it ought to. I almost, sort of, wished that it could be."

"It's that bad?"

"My dad's regular vocabulary has been replaced by the disses: disappointment, disallow, and my personal favourite, disinherit."

"You know he wouldn't actually do it," Blair assured him, a swipe of her thumb against his knuckles reinforcing the point. "The Captain is all talk, always has been."

"Thanks Blair," Nate smiled at her reassurance, perfect dimples reflecting their own thanks. Blair smiled herself, at how simple it was to mend the tall blonde. He was nothing like his angst ridden best friend. The realization of just who the one was and who the other was had her dropping the blonde's hand without a second thought.

"So where _is _Serena?" Blair covered the awkward moment with a genuine question. Where was the bombshell? She never disappeared without at least a text, usually a too brief text, many hours too late. Maybe it was still coming. Even her thoughts were rambling.

"There was some kind of implosion at dinner," Nate admitted. "Chuck invited one of Lily's ex husbands."

"He did what!"

"Yeah, and then proceeded to have one of his cataclysmic meltdowns."

"Cataclysmic?" Blair could feel her chest suddenly expand beyond its means. "As in?"

"Yelling, screaming" Nate explained. "Getting thrown out of the suite."

Blair's eyes grew as wide as her chest, grip instinctively tightening around the stem of her martini glass. "And you're here because?" She kept her hand firmly to the glass, least the urge to slap the dimwitted blonde overwhelm her more rational side.

"What?" Nate's eyes did that slow focus thing and Blair remembered just how much it irritated her. "You mean with Chuck. He likes to calm down on his own."

"You really think that's wise?" Blair kept her tone deliberately neutral, employing superhuman strength to keep it from rising at the end.

"Well. I mean, do you think I should go find him?"

Blair didn't trust herself to speak. She gave a slow but deliberate shake of her head; slow enough for the blonde to follow, controlled enough to keep her from throttling him. All those points her ex had gained through his appearance, with his honest commiseration, they were all flushed along with the blonde's common sense.

"Okay," Nate made a grab for his wallet and Blair covered his hand, not so sympathetically this time.

"I'll pay," Blair suggested with a pointed look. It didn't disappear until Nate did. She didn't disappear for another half hour, when the text finally came, along with a strongly worded request for help.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The place was a stereotype from the cracked neon to the whitewashed walls. It was packed to capacity, proof that the after club crew had only as much taste as their current state of inebriation allowed. Chuck weaved through the throng of people until he found his former teacher in a back corner. She was fending off the advances of a drunken university student, shorter hair apparently not aging her enough. She'd woven dark threads through her blonde hair, jeans and cashmere combining in an awkward juxtaposition between old and new.

"This place is a dive." Chuck offered as a greeting. He gave a not so subtle shove to the tall blonde, nearly laughing as the frat boy scurried back to his company.

"I guess that means I'm paying." Lewis offered right back.

"Didn't I hear something about the Wiltshire billions?" Chuck countered.

Lewis rolled her eyes in return. "Don't remind me. I'm been putting up with them for my entire reading break. I'm renting an apartment when I visit again in May."

"That's very charitable of you."

"Do you know they hired two different nannies, and my own private limousine?"

"And this is a problem?"

"I know how to drive! I grew up on the east side of Montreal. I knew how to drive before I was legal."

"Why don't you accept their help for what it is?"

"Because they want to parade me around like a Pollock painting. Prove that the reconciliation is sincere. My son's grandfather actually patted _my _head yesterday! In public!"

Chuck couldn't help the snicker at the visual. "So you're coming back in May?"

"After I defend my thesis."

"Then back to Stanford?"

"What? No. It doesn't look like that is going to happen."

"I thought they adored you?"

"They did, they do. It's not the university's fault. My work permit is lapsing and even the head can't get it renewed. I'll likely end in Laval."

"In Canada?"

"I _am _a Canadian."

"I know, but, how can a doctor not get a work permit?"

"Legal issues," Lewis explained and then swiftly changed topics. "Eat some sushi," Lewis used her chopsticks to place three California rolls on his plate.

"It smells like raw fish," Chuck begged off.

"Isn't that a bit narrow-minded for a world traveller?" Lewis stuffed one into her mouth.

"Take a look around. This place is a walking advertisement for Salmonella."

"What's a little food poisoning amongst friends?"

Chuck cracked a smile at her reproof. "So where's the Frenchman?"

"Henri?" Lewis arched a brow. "He missed his villa."

"And you?"

"I missed my freedom," Lewis admitted with a wistful edge.

"Really?" Chuck's momentary smile turned to a bemused grin. "I hate to say that I was right but..."

"A gentleman wouldn't mention it," Lewis tried to correct him but Chuck's smile just spread wider.

"I've never claimed to be one." He took a look at her hand. "Was it harder to part with the rock or with him?"

Lewis just rolled her eyes. "You should be sympathetic," She suggested. "Do you know how humiliating it was to realize I couldn't stand having someone around 24-7?"

"How about your son?"

"That's different. So _very _different."

"So you're single

"And still ten years too old to sleep with you."

"What makes you think I was talking about me?"

That made her chopsticks pause, dangle halfway to her mouth; A little something that was probably embarrassment appeared and then fled, leaving only her cheeks a painted red. She could have asked him to clarify but she was pretty certain she wouldn't want to know. So she went for the jugular instead. "So are you going to tell me why you called at 10:30pm on a weeknight?"

_On a weeknight?_ _Who used phrases like that?_ "It wasn't supposed to be 10:30pm for you."

Lewis lifted her offering the rest of the way. "Somehow I don't think it was to get an update on my life. Or for another explanation of allegory."

"I can't help it," Chuck stabbed at his own plate and then pushed it aside. He decided the green tea was more appealing. "You explain things better than my tutor."

"Perhaps if you'd selected on their expertise rather than the size of their ass."

"One must prioritize," Chuck patronized. They fell back into silence at that. Chuck continued to dissect the remnants of his meal and Ms. Smith to study him. Chuck could have made small talk for hours but he chose to break instead. The strangest thing was that he wanted to speak honestly and that was probably why he picked her number. "I needed someone to talk to."

Lewis didn't say anything; she simply put her sticks beside her plate. She didn't ask him to start but the way she folded her hands invited him to all the same.

"My father and I had an argument," Chuck ran a hand through his hair. "Which really shouldn't bother me because it's just what we do; some fathers and sons play little league, I conspire to ruin our family and he tells me to get the hell out of it."

"Chuck."

"No," He waved away her pity. "It truly was my fault, it usually is."

"So tell me what happened?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair marched the familiar hall to room 1812, feathered clutch dangling from one hand, stiletto heels dragging against the lush carpeting. She fought the memories at the door; knocked harshly enough to chase them away. She was half hopeful that Chuck would answer the door, scarf around his neck and eternal smirk on his face. She was nostalgic these days, a part of her wishing she could rewind their history, not to the backseat of a limo but years before where their relationship didn't exist beyond mutual schemes and banter. Everything seemed simpler, Chuck seemed stronger but maybe he just hid things better.

The door swung open to reveal the youngest of the Van der Bass troupe instead. His blonde hair dangled over his eyes, shirt rumpled as the hour progressed into morning. Blair hardly noticed him, but she did notice the stench of scotch and her heart clenched despite the expectation. She looked from the right to left, expecting to see the rest of the Unjudging Breakfast Club but the room was empty. She arched a brow and finally saw Eric for the first time.

"Where is everyone?"

"I needed to talk to you first."

"About?"

"I know that you know about Lily's affair."

"So do they."

"But you know why he's flipping out over it."

Blair didn't admit or deny. She simply put the clutch on the table and took a seat. "I kind of thought he'd tell you about his father cheating," She said, the slightest smile crossing her features. "How did you know that I knew?"

"I guessed."

"Pretty good for Serena's little brother."

"His father threw him out."

Blair let her breath out in a hiss. "Maybe it's for the best."

"How can you say that?"

"How much progress have they made in the last six years? Other than backwards." Eric couldn't argue the point. It wasn't the issue though. The issue was that they had a disappearing and potentially drunk Chuck to contend with. "What's the plan?"

"I'm going out to look for him and you're staying here." Eric explained.

"Chuck has asked me to leave him alone."

"And if you planned on following then you wouldn't be here." Eric tossed her the key card on the way out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis was angry; he could tell it by the involuntary clenching of her slender chin. She never put it to words, she was trying to be entirely neutral but she was still upset. It was comforting to Chuck to know that he wasn't alone in the feeling. But it also invoked guilt. Lewis didn't understand their family and Chuck knew if he let her continue, she would paint the wrong picture. "You don't know my father."

"You're right, I don't."

"He hasn't always been this way." He waited. She sipped the tea, one, two, three, four, five times until her jaw slackened.

"So tell me what he was like."

Chuck nodded his head and matched her movement. He could have pretended it was a spur of the moment decision, that Lewis was influencing him by asking the question but he'd intended on discussing it all along. Before he abandoned the family dream he wanted to put its root to words. He wanted someone to understand what he was giving up. "I can't talk about him without talking about my mom."

"So tell me about both."

"That's the thing. My dad wants me to jump into this new family and maybe it's my fault. I was so willing at first. I kind of like having a brother, even Serena isn't bad. She screeches way too fucking much though."

Lewis laughed at the thought. She knew enough of Serena to agree.

"And I did like Lily at first." Chuck admitted with great difficulty. _He'd more than liked Lily; he'd adored her gentle controlling of his father. _"I kind of thought she could restore things but she's no Misty Bass. Which I guess could be a good thing too, but not really. I don't know. My mom is irreplaceable; she certainly can't be replicated by some society matron." Chuck took a sip of tea and tried to gather his thoughts. "It's like the way they look. Lily is beautiful but it's almost commonplace, all peroxide hair and blue eyes. My mom, she was stunning. She had the longest, thickest brown hair and these huge eyes."

"And she was as smart as my father. They eloped as teenagers you know, ran off to Las Vegas when they were only eighteen. Apparently both sets of grandparents were ready to murder them when they returned but my parents didn't care. They were _that_ much in love and they _both_ had entrance scholarships. They made it to third year before the money ran out. My mom dropped out and paid for Bart's schooling; little known fact of the evolution of Bass Industries. That's the way they worked together. It wasn't just that they loved each other, though they truly did. They were each the perfect compliment to the other."

"My father used to have sides with my mom and with me too. He used to be harsh sure. He always gets mad a lot, usually about school. My dad was a really good student, really tried hard but I could never make myself care that much. I think my mother understood that. She used to stash a box of imported truffles just for report card time. That's the way it worked, she could plan around his temper because she never really got angry. She used to get sad a lot. She used to drink too, but not when my dad was around. When he was there he fixed things. We toured every single continent by the time I was seven. It was my dad's solution to her little problem."

"We used to fly off at least six times a year, would spend a week in Mexico or two in Egypt. I said my dad had sides and it was then that I got to see both. He left everything behind. Of course, then he could because he had Jack. My uncle could have built an empire to rival Bass Industries, Bart used to swear he was the more intelligent of the two, but Jack never had the drive. My uncle was born to money, lots of it; he wasn't hungry like my dad."

"But on our holidays my dad wasn't the Big Bad Bart caricature. He was just my dad and he gave all his time and energy to my mom and to me too." Chuck took a deep breath and stopped there. He'd reached the point of the discussion, all the rambling thoughts finally ending at the point. "I _really_ miss that man. He was the one you could spend hours with, without any general direction or agenda, just this constant soundtrack of laughter and silliness. He used to laugh all the time, about the stupidest things, embarrassingly stupid sometimes. One of our beach holidays, my mom got pinched by this tiny crab. The thing couldn't have been bigger than my pinkie and my mom was screeching because it wouldn't let go. My dad couldn't stop laughing long enough to pull it off."

"That's the strangest thing. He doesn't laugh at all anymore, he hardly even smiles. He stopped being himself. Now you can schedule fifteen minutes and write a post-it note on the refrigerator." Chuck snorted at the thought. "We communicated that way for six months at one point. I guess it was better than e-mail."

"It's like when my mom died she stole everything that was good about my dad. It's like they both died."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was still there when Chuck finally returned home, reclined in the high backed chair, half asleep. The younger brother had come back and then gone off in another direction, unable to sit as patiently as Blair. She'd had an extra decade of practice. Blair studied Chuck as the boy crossed the suite, breathing deeply once she noticed the straight line of his progression. He didn't acknowledge her, didn't even look her direction but she knew he saw her. She sat in the chair closest to the door, a half foot from where he opened it. He couldn't have missed her no matter how much he wished to.

Chuck took his scarf and tossed it onto the bar. He opened the small refrigerator to one side and pulled out a bottle of water. He'd have offered one to Blair but he didn't intend on her staying long enough to drink it.

"Where were you?"

Chuck laughed at her words. "When did that become your business?"

"We were all worried about you."

"_I told you._ I am not your concern anymore. You shouldn't be here."

"That's not your choice to make."

"I was out," Chuck finally stared her way. His eyes were lined in red, proving that either he was high or he'd been crying. She'd predicted the first but his hands were amazing calm as they ran along the slate countertop, glare too steady to be intoxicated.

"Doing what?"

"Don't you get it? You don't get to know that."

"Because you wrote me some poetic kiss off letter?" Blair stood up to emphasis her point. "You think you can make me not care about what happens to you."

"You shouldn't."

"I can't turn things off like that. I still..."

"Don't," Chuck advanced on her before she could finish the thought. He'd closed the space, moved to stand right in front of her before she could intone the four letter word. "Don't say it," He begged her and for a moment she could see his jaw twitch, bravado undone with the distance. She stared into his brown eyes, studied their darkened edges for some kind of understanding. There was something missing there, something she could no longer place.

"Why not?" She asked when the silence mixed with his closeness to overwhelm her.

Chuck's eyes dipped immediately to her throat and Blair let them go. She stared at his, watched the shallow breaths barely expanding his chest. He tilted his head to one side and her own breathing slowed. His lips were inches from hers, she could taste his breath but he didn't kiss her. He edged to one side; let his lips hover over her jaw and then upward. She could feel the tickle of his breath as they progressed, antagonising in their slowness. She was very aware of the wall behind her, the arm on one side and his head on the other. Half of her wanted the escape she'd thrown back the instant it was offered. The other half was undecided, but the goose bumps on every inch of both arms told their story. That was the part that rebelled with his truth. "_I don't deserve it_."

She came to life at the thought, pushed him back far enough to move, to hold his jaw between her slender fingers. She was poised for rebuttals, for argument, or a well timed '_what the hell are you thinking'._ He swallowed the words instead, pushed her hand aside and pushed his mouth onto hers. She struggled for a moment, intent on forcing the explanation, or forcing him to dismiss the words that had discomforted her to the core. Then his tongue snaked between her lips and she chose another path. She offered up what she'd once stole, let him take his comfort in any form, wound her manicured nails around his undone collar and sighed against ministrations.

"Now get out," Chuck broke abruptly off. He grabbed at the door, swinging it open without a second thought. She felt the chill of his absence before the words. She sought out his eyes but they were different than before. The momentarily vulnerability had again dissolved into coldness. There was nothing in _those_ eyes for her. "And this time don't come back again."

He waited with his hand on the door, the vulnerability passing entirely to Blair. She paused and Chuck knew it was to control herself. She wasn't able. Chuck had chosen his words and his actions precisely to this effect. Her eyes filled with tears and that twisted side of him needed to see it, to prove what he was. He was the kind of person that did _this_ to people, cracked them and ruined them and left them questioning why they'd ever thought to love him in the first place.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So Chuck's climax is next :) It seems like it was a long time in coming. And yes, Chuck is the biggest jerk to have ever lived by the end of this chapter. It's okay. I still love him but apparently I'm as crazy as he's turned out to be. I can't believe it but I think I actually wrote something darker than YCFYF. I'm so going to have to write some pure, unadulterated fluff after this story._

_Nostaliakills – Serena has been there for Blair, I've just kind of avoided writing it which is my mistake. I should have put some comfort in._

_SilkBone922 – Yeah, the last chapter fell flatter than I was hoping. Oh well, hopefully you enjoyed this one better._

_PeytonSwayerScott15 – thanks :)_

_Annablake – Well there was some CB here (goes into hiding). As for Dan being a good kisser, I totally don't see that either. He really is the asexual character to me as well). Serena did say he was a good kisser though so I decided to write that in and cut him some slack. As for the Claus/Klaus situation. Chuck was just trying to humiliate his stepmother. I wouldn't read too much into Chuck's actions at the moment. He went off the deep end a few chapters back. It will all make sense in the next._

_Okay, here's the voting allotment. I have two ways to write the next scene. Either the rest of the Van der Basses can learn about Chuck's OD (thereby possibly spreading it beyond) or I can stick to just Eric & Bart knowing. Tell me what you'd prefer._

_Up Next – Bart faces his own critic…duck and cover…, He gives the discussion with his son another go, 1812 is replaced by a real home, Attentiveness is replaced by real affection and we've finally reached the end of someone, or is it something?_


	25. Chapter Ten Part One

_A/N – if you don't enjoy crazy angst than I suggest you detour. Otherwise consider reading all of Chapter Ten (there will be three parts) as one unit. _

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Ten – Part One**

_March 27, 2009_

_Do you know it took my mother six months after my suicide attempt to ask me why? I think she was afraid of what the answer might be. She might be a narcissist but even the most egomaniacal wouldn't want to be the subject of that discourse. In fact, even after all that time, she still winced when she asked, like she expected it to be all her fault. She'd probably spent the intermediary time cataloguing her faults. That could be the reason for the delay, it likely took that long. _

_Lily was never a good mother. She was affectionate when it suited her; most often between divorces when there no one else to shower with hugs or kisses. She was too wrapt up in her own dramas to provide any dialogue for our lives. The men she picked were inappropriate. I don't mean Klaus and his leering eyes. I mean all of them. She never dated a man who had children, or even the inclination to parent. We became luggage, portable, silent and heavily decorated. After fifteen years of this I came to a simple conclusion, I love Serena. Despite all that, Lily was not the cause. I didn't lie to her when she finally did ask, but I didn't tell her the answer she expected. I told her the truth._

_I tried to kill myself because the stress outweighed my coping mechanisms._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Eric shovelled another spoonful of his hand cut fruit salad onto Blair's plate, his form of penance. He shouldn't have asked her to intervene; she'd lost her ability to calm him months back. They'd all lost it; even Eric was reduced to grabbing fistfuls of air rather than anything of substance. Perhaps he should have abandoned ship with the rest but Eric had a pretty good idea where Chuck was headed and the realization made him want to try harder despite every other urge that told him to take his lifejacket and jump. Blair was seated at the Van der Bass kitchen, brunette curls piled high onto of her head, Serena's pink silk pyjamas just enough out of place on her still thin form. She looked healthy, despite everything that had happened to her this year, her figure was slowly returning to its former glory. Her hair had regained its sheen, her skin its glow. She was a vision again and if Eric hadn't favoured the other side he'd be mesmerized by her. He still did stare sometimes, gay or not, one couldn't help but gape at beauty like that. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"It doesn't really matter," Blair jabbed at a runaway grape. "It was just more of the same."

"I'm sorry I involved you."

Blair gave a distracted wave of her head as she chewed. Only when it was swallowed, after a sip of water, did she speak again. "There was a difference. He'd never been so deliberately cruel to me before. I really think that he set out to hurt me; that he wanted me to cry. It almost relaxed him when I did. He's said lots of hurtful things before, but it was just different." Eric shovelled several spoons onto his own plate, forking angrily at a blueberry as her words washed over him. "He did something else too," Blair paused because she's not sure she wanted to relate it. She put her eyes to each kitchen door but the other side rooms were still silent. It wasn't 8:00am yet. Bart hadn't even risen; he'd taken the day off. The rest had another three days to Spring Break. "He told me that he didn't deserve to be loved by me." Blair admitted as a whisper. Eric shut his eyes. He couldn't do anything else. "What do you think that means?" Blair asked and in the way she said it, Eric knew she already had an answer prepared.

A loud bang at the front door stopped Eric before he had to put either of their fears to words. Eric checked his watch. It was still five minutes to eight. Blair pushed her plate away, her cheeks dipping to the pale side. Who would call that early in the morning except the topic of their discourse? Then again, when would he ever knock? The visitor knocked again before a servant could get to the door. Serena's head popped into the melee, blonde curls hanging half into her bleary eyes. "Who the hell is that?" She muttered with a yank at the fridge door. She had a glass filled with juice before the woman's voice dismissed their first answer.

_Bart Bass please._

_Mr. Bass is indisposed._

_Then redispose him._

_I don't think that..._

_I'll wait here. _The voice clipped, followed by a bang of the front door.

The three friends exchanged looks. "You think she's inside or out?" Eric offered up. The frightened flight of the servant up the ornate staircase answered the question.

"I'll look," Serena offered. She downed half of her orange juice and threw her bare feet along the heated floors. She put a finger to her lips as she went, ducking around one of the ornate pillars to stand by the entrance hall. She tried to be secretive but the blonde curls undid any attempts at concealment. They fell into the hall before her eyes could. "Serena," The voice intoned and Serena did a double take.

"Ms. Smith," She stared the older woman up and down. Despite the early hour her former teacher was surprisingly alert, hair already pressed to bob, green tank matching her powerfully flashing eyes. She was right pissed and not on too many glasses of wine. Lewis looked like she could take out the entire Arab army and Serena felt a flash of sympathy for her stepfather.

The man in question was slowly making his way down the winding staircase, hands pulling at his hair, trying to smooth the flattened edges. He was seriously considering firing Anthony. What good were servants if they couldn't prevent irate woman entrance? His other man used to be better at it and that was back in the bachelor days when the models had long nails. He went to the kitchen first, grabbed sleepily at the fridge in search of a bottle of water. One must prioritize: first cotton from mouth and then angry interlopers.

"Good morning Mr. Bass," Blair said and not matter the seriousness of her earlier discussion; she couldn't help but smile at Bart Bass in pyjamas. He put a hand up and with another swipe at his hair disappeared into the other room.

"I kind of thought he slept in a three piece suit," Eric allowed in bewilderment once the man had left. Indeed Bart Bass didn't. He was wearing a pair of two piece silk pyjamas, blue and black stripes stretching further on the father's tall frame.

"Do you think Chuck knows they have matching pjs?" Blair tried to take a sip of water to stop from laughing. It didn't work; she simply spat it across the kitchen counter when the giggle burst through.

"Did you see that?" Serena pointed towards the door as she re-entered. It amplified their amusement.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart had half of the bottle through before he reached the entrance, cool liquid spreading through his body and slowly acclimatizing it to day. He shouldn't be this tired. He was used to rising with the sun, was the first one in the office. He was just burned out, hardly surprising since he'd spent the last three months travelling more than he had in the previous six. It wasn't that thought. He'd done more when Jack had first left. It was his family, all his stable dreams being dashed hard. He'd married Lily to try to re-establish his relationship with Chuck, not to put the final nail in the coffin. Maybe if they all took a vacation, some place sunny where Lily could sip from little umbrella drinks and he could chase after starfish. Eric could categorize the sea life, Serena could tease them both and Charles could flirt with long-legged waitresses. The mental picture died an abrupt death, and Bart took another sip of his water. His marriage would be lucky to survive the week, his relationship with Chuck the rest of the day.

He'd call his secretary after this. He'd figure something out. Bart took a deep breath and walked to the entrance arch. He really hoped it wasn't one of those do-gooder protesters. He got really tired of them. The save the whales, save the homeless migrants, save the homeless migrant whales. It wasn't that he wasn't charitable. He gave away more than the United States government. It just got to be a bit much. He once asked his secretary to profile all the different organizations, thinking he might be swayed. When the single file box turned to four he told her to stop.

"Mr. Bass," The voice refocused him to the destination.

When he saw who it was, Bart gave an instinctual tug at his pyjamas. He was seriously questioning his decision not to get changed. He felt very un-Bart Bass-like. Then he was struck by an even more frightening thought. He hadn't even brushed his teeth. "Ms. Smith," He mumbled through a covering hand.

"Did you want to talk here?" She prompted as he stood.

Bart waved her in without a word, washed his mouth with water as she slid past, eyes slipping to her behind as she walked. It wasn't his fault; jeans were designed for asses like that.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Point," Blair threw a green chip on the table. She had twenty in her hand, from the poker set that always sat to the far side of the Van der Bass room. It never really fit in there. Poker was never played as a family, just with the younger set after too many drinks and that poker never involved chips. Now they were using it to keep score between Lewis Smith and Chuck's father: green for her eyes, blue for his fortune. It was juvenile, but preferable to everything else they didn't want to say. Besides, they wanted to hear the context. Blair was already relieved to know that Chuck was with his former teacher last night. She'd imagined many other, less honourable pursuits.

_Are you actually telling me how to parent Charles?_

_Someone needs to!_

_Did you even have parents?_

"That's worth like five," Serena muttered in shock, dropping as many into her meagre pile.

"Do you think she might kill him?" Eric eyed the table, greens chips tripling the blue.

"If she does I'm tossing the rest in." Blair decided.

"Before or after you call 911?"

_I don't need to have had parents to know you don't throw a kid out of his home a week after he nearly dies._

Two gasps were followed by a crash of the remaining chips. The third participate panicked outright. "We shouldn't be listening in on a private conversation," Eric spat out just loud enough to cover the retort. He had the stereo on before the others could speak, had the volume up high enough to drown out the raised voices from the other room. It only took one look between best friends; one combined realization that Eric was the only one not to gasp, never mind his poorly constructed avoidance strategy to know he was hiding something. Franz Ferdinand couldn't save him. Their eyes met again and Eric's dissolved to that deer in headlights look he favoured in moments like this.

"What do you know?" The best friends spat with a combined voice.

"I'm not at liberty to say." Eric said as he took to his feet, predicting which angry girl could be evaded and which direction ought not to be attempted. It was an easy choice. He dove towards the other blonde, but Blair anticipated his movement. She had him by the ear before he made it a step, perfectly manicured nails closing sharply around one tip, the pain forcing him down onto the couch without struggle.

"I've got two hands," Blair said with a look at his other ear.

"I've been sworn to secrecy."

Blair didn't even hesitate before she grabbed the other lobe, cutting a little deeper than the first time, nearly drawing blood. "Would you like to reconsider?" Eric shut his eyes but that just made the pain easier to focus on. He needed his brother here, needed to borrow some Chuck Bass bravado. There should be a stockpile. Chuck hadn't used any in months. "Serena," Blair said calmly and his sister came to the other side. She grabbed at his knee, pressing at one boney point and then another until Eric finally begged for mercy. "I suggest you talk now," Blair suggested as Eric wiped at his watering eyes. "I know far more sensitive parts than those," She finished with an arched brow and a lingering glance down below.

"If the government had you they wouldn't have needed Guantanemo Bay," Eric mumbled.

"Eric!" Serena stared her brother down. "Whatever you know, you need to tell us."

"I know you're late to this game," Blair crossed her arms. "But we've always been there for each other: Chuck, Serena, Nate and I."

"We've all done bad things, stuff I wouldn't even tell you," Serena supplied.

"Stuff we couldn't tell anyone else."

"We don't judge," Serena educated her brother.

"We're the Non-Judging Breakfast Club."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was predisposed to listening to the blonde. He'd trusted her instinct, valued her forgiveness of Charles and admired the easy camaraderie she'd demonstrated with her son. He'd been predisposed to imagining her seraph in casual clothes. That was when she supported him, before she opened her mouth in an angry diatribe. Now she was more sprite than angel. He crossed his arms, silk slithering across his formidable arms. He wasn't sure he liked being disciplined by some twenty-something orphan. "I have things in hand."

"Really?" Lewis crossed her hands to match him. "Because I would say that you're royally screwing up."

"That's your opinion."

"Do you want to know what your son told me?"

Bart's arms tightened. He knew he was learning whether he answered or not.

"He loves you,' Lewis explained and Bart breathed.

"So I must be doing something right."

"Or should I say that he loved you. He told me that you're dead."

Bart took a step back without thinking, arms uncrossing with that little nugget. His desk was near and he leaned against it. His first instinct was to lash out, but he suppressed it. He did however want an explanation. "Meaning..."

"You're screwing up!"

"My son is not some easy to parent kid." The defence was next. "He never has been."

"I never said he was. I'm guessing he's damn hard to deal with." Lewis purposely unfolded her arms. "It's not that. Chuck has told me a lot about your family." Bart leaned a little more heavily on the desk, gave his eyes a rub and waited for the gory details. "He made me cry. You were a very close family."

Bart clenched his jaw. He didn't want those memories any more than his son. "Things change."

"Do they have to?"

"No, but they do all the same." Bart felt the rest of his anger wash out with the realization that the step up from a teenager was right. "I can't do that lovey dovey stuff. That was all Misty. She was the affectionate one."

"So do what you were good at. Chuck misses that more than a few hugs from an unbalanced mom." Bart's eyes crossed momentarily at the end of the sentence, but not enough to discount the first. Perhaps there was something there to work with. "And for the love of God," Lewis went further now that she knew Chuck's father was listening. "Control your temper. You're the parent!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I don't think any of you really understand what Chuck is going through." Eric eyed the two girls. They might have been sympathetic but there were limits to that.

"I understand that he's been there for all of us when it counted," Serena admitted and then with a deep breath offered the explanation her brother should never have known. "He paid off my coke dealer when he suggested _alternate payment methods_."

"He was waiting in my bedroom when my father ran off with his gay lover," Blair seconded. "_With flowers_."

Eric took his own deep breath. He wasn't exactly sure why he was hesitating. He had been the one angry with Bart's secrecy; his first instinct had been to tell exactly these people.

"Eric?" Blair prompted and he broke.

"He overdosed last week," Eric bit his lip once he'd said it, waited for the shocked silence to turn to something else.

"I'm calling Nate," Serena decided as she stood.

"On what exactly," Blair asked. "Has he been using hard stuff again?" It would explain a lot, from his flipping moods to the subtle changes that she couldn't quite place.

"No," Eric had a brief thought to ask Blair if she knew what had prompted Chuck's original abstinence. He decided against it. He set the rule at one revelation a night. "His doctor had him on valium."

"Valium!" Serena nearly dropped the phone.

"Apparently they use it for alcohol withdrawal."

"Well that's fucking brilliant," Blair rolled her eyes.

"When did this happen exactly?" Serena asked. "It's not like he missed any school."

Eric tried to chase away his sister's question with a shake of his own head, but once he turned back he saw Blair was already waiting expectantly. "It was the Saturday before last," he admitted under duress, hand out towards Blair before she'd calculated the date. It was a hard one to forget; the day she buried her mother. All the blood drained from her face. She wanted to ask Eric the exact time, the exact cause but who would? Who could handle the possible answer?

"Blair," Serena put the phone down and sat beside her friend.

"I'll talk to Nate," Blair grabbed Serena's phone and disappeared immediately into the other room.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck could feel the bed shift and knew someone was there before the light registered. He paused and waited for the slap, survival instinct commencing before proper thought. "Charles," The deep voice was far too familiar and even half asleep, his jaw still clenched. "Charles," The voice was more insistent the second time and Chuck felt the cold air as the sheets were thrown back. That's when he knew, playing dead only worked for dogs. He rolled over and shaded his eyes from the bright overhead lights. His dad sat on the corner, eyes not angry but hesitant. Chuck hated that more because the anger was justified but the hesitation, that was more so and it couldn't be eradicated.

"Father," Chuck retreated to the formal, kept the distance just where it needed to be.

"I need to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

"I thought you already did."

"I should have been honest."

"I thought you were," Chuck pushed himself away from his dad, sat up at the headboard.

"It's just," Bart sucked in a mouthful of air and Chuck realized he was trying to control himself. "I spoke with your teacher."

"Lewis?" Chuck arched a brow and inched further back, pulling his legs right up to his chest.

"She made me realize that perhaps I don't always handle things the best."

Chuck could only laugh at that, a short chuckle that wasn't actually mirthful.

"But you have to understand Charles. You're not an easy person to deal with. Every time we make some progress you lash out three times as hard."

Chuck's law went firm at that, the strangest thought threading through the rest. He really wished his father was yelling right now.

"You're capable of so much nastiness."

Screaming so loud that Chuck could disallow the words. He wasn't though. Bart was perfectly calm and that meant it was all the truth.

"You really hurt Lily. She was hysterical for the rest of the evening. Apparently this Klaus had some rather inappropriate..."

"I know I screwed up," Chuck cut his father before he could finish the thought.

"Do you really though? Because you pull stuff like this all the time."

"I said I know!" Chuck pushed further back. Why could his father just shout? He didn't want to hear just how bad he was in perfect clarity.

"You're always letting your anger get the best of you. And maybe I haven't been the best role model, but do you really understand how much you hurt other people?"

Chuck's jaw shook. He clenched it firmly, let the rest of his face shake instead.

"You are a very hard person to love," His father finished. Bart waited expectantly, wanted some reflection but Chuck wasn't offering any. This wasn't some crazy revelation. Chuck knew all of that far too well. "But I do love you," Bart provided but it was undone by everything that went before. It was changed from a fatherly affection to an unearned gift. "And Lily does too. I don't know what's going to happen between us but I want you to understand why I'm standing by her. It's not often in life that you're offered a second chance to correct an earlier mistake. I have that chance and it's" Bart shifted and met his son's eyes again. "It's important to me that I do this right." Chuck finally understood. His father was doing it all out of some screwed up sense of penance. "I know that you're angry with Lily but I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive her. You don't know what sacrifices she has made for me."

Chuck was pretty sure they began and ended with one messed up stepson.

"I want you to have this," Bart produced a key. It wasn't a card but a genuine key. "It's for a house, a real one. I'm done with living in hotels. I meant it as a surprise for Lily, for her fortieth birthday, but I'd like you to move there first. By the time April 15th passes, I hope you'll be ready for the rest of us."

Chuck stared at the silver slip of metal and considered. He hadn't lived in a house since he was eleven years old but it wasn't about that. He knew he didn't deserve yet another chance. His father's words had made that clear enough. Bart had his family now. He'd finally risen from the ashes and what had Chuck done? He'd kicked at it a few times then resettled as dark as ever. He took the key anyway. It didn't matter. He'd be gone by April. "I only ask one thing." Chuck asked clearly and waited for the flicker of agreement before he finished the question. "I don't want anyone to know where I am. I need some time to myself. To think."

Bart smiled and his son imagined it must have sounded good, contemplative even. "I agree."

Chuck offered his own nod in thanks. He was thankful just not in the way his father thought. He always could rely on Bart, usually to make the wrong choices.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate and Blair were digging through Chuck's drawers, Eric and Serena's values keeping them in a supervisory role. They were looking for drugs, for a passport, small things that would pose an immediate threat. There were none of the former, and the later was in the side drawer, same as since Chuck had ordered another. Then Blair pulled the desk drawer and hit upon something she'd been dying to read since the first week of January. It was a thick black journal, a thousand pages deep. She opened it immediately, making a cursory glance through the first three hundred pages. She didn't read it, just let the pages flash through in a melding of small lettering and black ink. She saw enough, the prevalence of capital B's pushing her curiosity deeper. Eric had it out of her hands before she could indulge.

"We can't read that," Eric said it firmly and it set off a controversy in the room.

"What is it?" Nate inquired.

"It's his private journal."

"Then that's exactly what we should be reading," Blair interjected. "If we want to know what's wrong with him."

"Does Sherman make you keep a journal?" Eric threw right back

Blair went pale and eyed the sole ignorant member of their club.

"Who is Sherman?" Nate added another question.

"Don't your remember him?" Serena offered first. "That doctor from last year."

"Oh yeah, the tall skinny guy."

"Chuck's still seeing him," Eric provided. He guessed there'd be few secrets left by the end of the day. Blair put her hand out and he held it closer. There were certain boundaries that should never be crossed.

"Then there's something in there that can help us," Blair tried again.

"Would you want your post therapy thoughts broadcast?"

"Why are you in therapy?" Nate asked.

Blair took a shaky breath and made a split second decision. "I'll tell Nate if you look in that and tell me if there's anything important."

"I'll scan." Eric agreed.

Blair stared at her former boyfriend. The clueless blonde was genuinely concerned and perhaps that made it easier. Or maybe it was just because they had dated since Kindergarten and Nate really ought to have known by now. "I'm bulimic."

The blonde was struck speechless. "Like a lot?"

"I'm getting better."

"I'm..." Nate had to sit on the edge of the bed. "When we were together?"

"Yes."

"I should have..."

Blair could almost see the thoughts cross over the blonde's face. At this point it was just another distraction. "Let's focus!" She gave him a slight push with her arm and then turned back to the younger blonde. "Your turn."

Eric sat as the rest shuffled. Blair stood at one side, just far enough away to not be tempted. Nate made quick work of the bathroom cabinets, Serena convinced to rifle through pockets. Nate was done first, Serena's hands filled with nothing but condoms and Tic-Tacs. They sat as well, waited as all other avenues were now exhausted. Eric managed five pages before he flipped to something current, read another two and then slammed the book shut.

"Well?" Blair prompted.

Eric didn't say anything at first; he just stood and marched to the desk drawer. He replaced the journal exactly as he found it, gave the cover a final swipe to wipe away the betrayal. And after actually reading it, that was genuine treachery. "We need to talk to him," Eric explained as he shut the drawer.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck threw the card on the side table once he'd entered the Van der Bass suite, never to be touched again, at least by him. He walked through the living room, not even pausing despite the four friends gathered there. They called out to him, a slow rumble of noise that passed from one ear to the other, too dim to be recognized. Blair stuck out a hand; it fell off as easily as their requests to stay.

He was tempted to turn and run but he wanted something first so he continued to his bedroom. Chuck had planned to pack some clothes but with a single look in the mirror he decided that one suit, in a shade of pink and black, was good enough for now. He rifled through his side table as fast as his fingers allowed. His friends spilled in from the other room, stifling the small space and bringing urgency to Chuck's pursuit. He stood up and tried to retrace his steps with an eye. It was in the desk drawer. Unfortunately in front of that desk drawer was one of the four. Blair eyed him as he approached and he remembered how easy it was to fall into those eyes. They were so sympathetic and he couldn't understand why. He'd given her every reason to hate him, had shown her just how foolish her desire to support had been. But she was still there. She still wrapt a hand around his when he went for the pull. "Let's go into the other room," Blair suggested. "Have a chat."

Chuck only returned a glare. "Not interested," Chuck said it coolly and pulled the drawer right into her hip. The black journal was wrapt in his coat before she could recover. He could have grabbed more but he was pretty sure they'd resort to physical force before long, and lets face it, of the four Chuck could probably only manage Serena. He was out of the room within a moment, the Non-Judging Breakfast Club reduced to calling his name in chorus line. Someone else touched him but he didn't even turn to see the source. Chuck pulled to one side and readjusted his coat. He was out the door before the rest fully processed that their plan was failing.

"Just one," He could hear Eric call from behind. The boy had turned out to be quite the manager, realization returning the smirk to Chuck's lips. When he heard the heels Chuck nearly snorted. They weren't regular like Blair's pattern, a perfect light and deep crack that still sent goose bumps up his spine. These were more clack then crack and knowing it was Serena made Chuck's smirk spread. It was an odd choice. Despite being the same height, despite the same escapist tendencies, Chuck saw least eye to eye with the bombshell blonde.

Chuck punched at the elevator, reclined against the far wall and waited to see if she'd reach in time. The ding spelled his freedom, the slender hand crushing it in the last moment. "Chuck," She stared right at him and Chuck was struck with the urge to close his eyes. He couldn't. It wouldn't help. "Please stay," Serena begged and he was horrified to realize how much of him _still _wanted to. "I want to help you."

"You want to help me," Chuck stared at her long fingers for relief, fixated on the hand that was covering his escape.

"We all want to help you."

Chuck just laughed a quiet laugh that reflected off his chest as he looked down. How cute! They thought they could fix him with a pep talk and a group hug. "You all want to help me?" Chuck's smile didn't die as he looked upward. It gave the impression he was trying for, a false security that straightened the blonde's shoulders and brought out her own pearly whites. She was so angelic, crowned by a halo of gold, if he didn't know all the dirty corners Chuck might have confused her for a guardian angel. "You'll have to find me first," His eyes dipped as his hands shoved her backward, couture crashing to the carpet, stilettos snagging as she fell. The doors were closed before Serena could even pull the hair from her eyes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – This fic is officially much darker than YCFYF. How many of your figured Chuck was teetering on the edge of nutso like two or so chapters back? That's what Blair hasn't been able to put her finger on. As for those looping B's in his journal. I'll let you all think on that._

_Now, I realize that lots of people won't enjoy this story and I fully expect others will have had enough. That's fine by me. I'll write something light and fluffy after this. For the rest, if you enjoy angst pull up a chair read the next post from between your fingers._

_Nostaligiakills – Eric told everyone but Lily. She really shouldn't know._

_Princetongirl – yeah, a new reader :)_

_SkySamuelle – I think B is very unnerved by C at the moment because lets face it, he hasn't exactly been acting stable. Yeah, Bart definitely gets the worst parent of all eternity award. It's not a wonder Misty offed herself._

_SilkenBone – Thanks :) Yeah, I might even have to do a couple fluffy one shots to offer some relief from the next couple postings. _

_Bradshaw-esque – For the record Klaus didn't actually try anything with Serena, he was just way too inappropriate with her._

_Ashtondene – You're going to hope that Chuck could be a little less brutally honest after the next post. That being said, give him another few weeks and he'll be back to stable :)_

_Annablake – You'll find this out next post but Chuck really has been working on his issues. The problem is he's been working a little too hard on them; he's lost sight of anything except his own mistakes/problems. A very dangerous combination :) BTW, Lewis was on reading break (university version of Spring Break) and that's the only reason she was in NY._

_Hiddenletter – Another delurker ;) I decided to tell everyone but Lily._

_CBEBTR – I decided to let the NJBC know. _

_GrantingTroyTurner – the next chapter is all NJBC_

_Up Next – You'll either hate Chuck or me. NJBC vs. Chuck Bass, Lily vs. Bart._


	26. Chapter Ten Part Two

_A/N – It looks like Ch 10 is going to be 4 parts and again I HIGHLY suggest you read all four together if you have issues with angst because the first part was light fluff compared to pt 2 & 3. I also suggest you __**don't read it at all**__ **if you have problems with **__**disturbing**__** narratives (far worse than YCFYF) revolving around suicide.** I actually dialled back the crazy and by doing it we get a cameo of sorts by Georgina (it's crazy to think that I used Georgina to tone down the psychotic feel.) I also changed the rating to "M" in consideration of the topic._

**Grand Romantic Gestures **

**Chapter Ten – Part Two**

Lily stared at her husband. Bart was framed by the light of an expansive old style window. They'd forgone one of his hotels, chosen instead the Chateau Versailles Hotel, a historical conversion in Montreal. She'd doubted him then, misgivings starting when he'd tossed both their phones onto the bed in New York. He hadn't brought a laptop, had relinquished all contact with Bass Industries for a private retreat. She was ever the sceptic until he'd explained why. Bart had told her this was the way he'd operated for years, described how he had let everything drop off so he could truly rest. When Bart turned back to her, slight smile playing at his usually firm lips Lily believed him. "What do you say we explore the Old District?" Bart held his hand out and she took it gratefully.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was on the phone before she had her feet beneath her. Every grouping had a head; weaker partner supported by a stronger and Serena had long since recognized Blair as hers. She pulled herself to standing, falling awkwardly to one side as she did. She stared down at her feet, realized that one heel now stood apart from the sole.

Within the suite Blair stood with the rest; Nate having sat once the door clicked, Eric flipping through his list of contacts. The shrill ringing made them all jump. Blair flipped the phone with an anticipation that quickly turned to dread. "What do you mean he'd gone?" Blair yelled. A nudge from Eric and she tossed the cell on the table, speaker hit for their combined benefit.

"He shoved me over, broke my heel." _Perhaps they ought to be a dress code, no Prada for code yellow emergencies_. "He dared me to find him."

Eric was up before the rest, hand hitting 0 on the home phone.

"Did he take the stairs?" Blair asked.

"The elevator."

Blair tolled her eyes at the blonde's naiveté. "Then what floor is he on?" She couldn't help the snark from slipping in.

"Seven," Serena said after a look upward.

"I'll go," Nate offered.

"No!" Eric grabbed at his wallet. "Go to 1812," he tossed the card over. Nate exchanged a glance with Blair; the brunette deferring to the youngest's wisdom. She would have questioned him but he was already talking to the head desk, ordering that Chuck not be allowed to leave the building. Blair arched a brow and considered that she may have found her better. She let him lead, stood awkwardly in the room as Eric shifted again, turned to focus on Nate before he left. "Nate," he called to the other blonde head. "If you find him, don't let him out of you sight. I don't care _what_ you have to do to make that happen."

"Blair?" Serena' voice sounded from the table.

"Go down the stairs," Blair suggested and within a moment the space was quiet again, the three remaining reduced to two. Eric leaned against the counter, contemplation turning his body still. "What are you thinking?" Blair prompted. It broke the reverie and sent him back to Chuck's room, Blair in tow. Eric pulled his at his brother's side table, grabbed the passport and returned to the kitchen. It was all about containment now, hopefully within the Palace but Eric had his doubts so he tossed the passport into the sink, a match later and he watched one very small problem burn to nothing.

"What are the chances he's still in the building," Blair asked through the trickle of smoke.

"I give it less than 5%," Eric admitted with a wince.

"In that case," Blair crossed her arms, "You're going to tell me what you read."

"Blair," Eric started to shake his head. She wasn't having any of it.

"Don't even try to protect me. The other two I can understand, but I can help you. I can handle it."

"It was bad okay." Eric admitted. "You don't need to know the particulars."

"We're all in this together. The sooner you get on board the better chance we have of finding him."

"It's not like that." Eric stared at her, his own resolve failing. Blair was probably right. The two of them working together was far more efficient then three others fumbling on a misreading.

"Then tell me what it _is_ like," Blair put her hands to her hips. "I know he's not suggesting a friendly game of hide and seek."

Eric ran a hand through his hair, pulled at the blonde roots and tried to put his suspicions to words. "I doubt he's talking about his physical self at all."

"What does that mean?"

"What does it mean to be Chuck Bass?"

"Honestly?" Blair arched a brow. "Drinking, womanizing and scheming."

"What do you have left if you take all that away?"

"A normal human being?"

"A boy with a father who hates him, a mother who killed herself, more demons than any of us could chase and the inability to make anything work out right. If you really want to know what was in his journal. It's all that."

"Then why wouldn't he stay with us? We could help him."

"I don't think he wants to be helped. Or at least he doesn't think he deserves help."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The house was far too silent. Chuck had forgotten what it was like to live apart from the bustle, the constant din of international accents and heavy suitcases. It was easy to blend into the tartan fabric of that place, to let the noise steal your thoughts. Silence didn't steal thoughts, it gifted hundreds more. He'd spent three hours examining his new home from every inch, the elaborate ceilings to the personalized bedrooms. His was all old Hollywood style, gold gilded edging and bright silver walls. He'd stared at the sheer window dressings and realized that Blair would love every inch. The thought drew him out, had him slam the door behind him, echo sounding as loud in his head as the empty house. It was all too new. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, sawdust swept but hanging still. He didn't belong there. There was nothing innocent in him to match the space; nothing beautiful to equal the carved woodwork or the personalized stone.

So he sat in the living room because it was beige, it was unfinished; it was closer to him than the rest ever could be. He slammed his journal down on the glass coffee table and wrote because in an empty house, with silence pushing his thoughts to a nervous pitch there was nothing else he could do. The problem was he had already written hundreds of pages and it had brought no relief. Doctor Sherman had promised him that if he wrote about the past, if he recorded his misdeeds as well as his triumphs; if he really dug deep then Chuck would truly understand himself. He would learn to reconcile the person he had been with the man he aspired to be. So he'd filled hundreds of pages, tiny script bleeding from side to side. He'd detailed everything he could, examined every situation, and defined every emotion he'd long since hidden. He talked himself hoarse, took to therapy like it was his sole chance for salvation.

The doctor was a liar. There was no reconciliation for men like him, simply a listing of sins that had long since guaranteed his damnation. Chuck had pretended for years that had no values but he had more than most. His parents hadn't been born to wealth and a single generation of it hadn't tempered the values they instilled. He had broken every rule they'd imprinted on him, violated every principal of good conduct and valour. He couldn't reconcile that. There was no reconciliation for liars, cheats and rapists. He scratched the pen from side to side, underlying the only truth that mattered. He marked out the print in jagged letters, pushed so hard that he ripped the embossed paper. He stared down at the mocking lines, the repeating sentiment that sobriety had won him.

_**I hate myself.**_

He tossed the journal to the floor; let his head fall back to the chaise. The truth was almost anticlimactic, like he could have grasped it at the bottom of a bottle of scotch rather than through a fistful of sobriety. At least with the first he'd have forgotten it by morning.

With sobriety it was imprinted forever.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair pushed the front door open, stepped to the side and let it shut with a bang. The cold gust of air washed her cheeks, feet still planted firmly inside. Blair wasn't born yesterday, she knew when things were off and no matter how intelligent, Eric Van der Woodsen was, she could spot a game from a mile away. He'd asked her to go upstairs, to help Nate scour the drawers of 1812 for something usable. Eric had hopped on his heels as he asked, eyes darting to one side and Blair knew he'd ask her to go anywhere. He just wanted her out. Blair just wanted to know what he was playing at.

So she counted the seconds until Eric started walking, slipped off her heels and counted another ten. Her stocking feet were silent on the tile, her breath slow and hushed as she crossed the threshold again. Eric was in his bedroom, digging madly through his drawers, papers tossed to the desktop, half falling to the immaculate floor. The wool of Blair's sweater dragged as she pushed along the edge of the wall.

He stopped the instant he found it, a thick manila envelop that he emptied on the bed. His phone was in hand, ten digits of a code entered before Blair made her presence known. Eric stood up and tried to block her view. She had enough of his games. She shoved him to the side, eyes flashing as she did, knees darting between his legs as she backed him to the wall.

"Who are you calling?"

"I don't know if it means anything," Eric tried to placate. Blair was far past the point of placation; she pushed her knee further, her eyes sparking to dangerous. She might have pinched his ear earlier, might have threatened but it was with a friendly edge. There was nothing affable in her expression now. She'd do genuine damage if he didn't speak up. Eric pointed to the bed, Blair's eyes following. She gasped once she read the name.

"You're calling Georgina? You think he's going to her?"

"No, I don't think that."

"Then why?"

"The last page of his journal. It wasn't an entry at all. It was just the same line scrawled over and over again."

"Yes," Blair gave her head a furious shake, waited impatiently for him to elaborate.

"_Georgina should have finished it in Central Park_. It's what he wrote."

"That was it?"

"I think we need to know what happened there."

Blair withdrew her knee; put her hands up to show her peaceful withdrawal. "Then call her," She turned her back and grabbed her own phone. She barked at Serena to get back upstairs, there were always two ways to find out any truth.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The four were gathered together before Eric was referred to the right person. Serena came bearing nothing, Nate only a wallet. It was Chuck's, left upstairs along with his jacket. Archibald lined the credit cards in a continuous line, tried to figure out if they were all there. It wasn't easy, there were a dozen and most of Nate's memories were swirled in green smoke. So they all debated. It gave them an occupation.

"I need to speak to Georgina Sparks," Eric nearly shouted when the phone finally connected. He tired to be as polite as possible but it was hard.

"It is against New Pathways policy to allow outside contact with a patient."

"I respect that," Eric lied, "but this is an emergency."

"Mr..."

"Van der Woodsen, Eric Van der Woodsen."

"Mr. Van der Woodsen, the basis of our program is total detachment from the outside world. I am sure there are a hundred such emergencies for each of our residents. This is the home that secludes them from it."

"I don't think you understand..."

"Mr. Van der Woodsen," The woman cut him off with a sharper tone and Eric felt the hope trickle with it. "We could not even notify a patient if there was a death within the family."

"What is they could prevent a death?" Eric spat in frustration.

"I'm certain that Ms. Sparks..."

"Our friend is suicidal," Eric admitted not only to the nurse but the entire room. "And Georgina has information that can help us to find him."

"That's not possible. Ms. Sparks hasn't had contact with anyone since admittance."

"It's a memory, an event."

"I understand your frustration but..."

"Please," Eric gave up all his allusions of detachment. He broke down and begged. "It won't take more than five minutes."

The nurse breathed deeply and Eric begged again. He'd beg a thousand times, get on his knees if the bitch was here to see it. "I'll speak to the director and to Ms. Sparks. They both must be willing."

"Thank you!" Eric took his own deep breath, provided his number and let himself hope. Perhaps it was an extraordinary hope; Georgina was just as likely to laugh when she heard. But what other options did they have? When he hung up the phone he saw his hope reflected in two of the three faces. Blair's were the only dark ones, eyes melding into the rich wood furniture.

"The bitch is going to say no," Blair put her feet beneath her and walked out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The night was cold, darkness slipping onto the balcony like a blanket of midnight shadows. There were no stars in New York, the only steady flicker of light cast by streetlights. They lined both sides of the avenue, adding their own shadows to the night. Chuck lay on the lounge chair, felt his eyes grow heavy, comforted by the street life more than the perfect silence of his perfect room. His stomach growled incessantly in his stomach. Bart didn't have the foresight to order food, to provide a servant, to continue some level of normalcy.

The instant it was realized Chuck forgot his hunger. He forced his eyes open again, curled his legs up and studied the sky, the passage of dark clouds barely discernable against the threatening black. He kicked his legs out from underneath him and stood. He wanted something to drink, thought chased away as easily as his hunger. He walked to the edge of the balcony and stared at the life beneath. It was after midnight but the crawl of people, the movement of traffic never stopped. They were so close. He wasn't dangling twenty stories above the ground. The townhouse was no more than four. He could probably fall and not even die. The idea brought him to the ledge, two booted feet perched on the painted cement.

Chuck felt it the moment he stood on the ledge, like he was drunk. The space spun in that same comforting way, noises dulled to minute sound, the steady hammer of his chest slowed to a contented crawl. Everything was manageable again, and he felt finally, blissfully relaxed. The change brought a smile to his mouth. He'd understood the why of his mother's death and now he understood the how. The emotion was imprinted as dearly as his own condemnation. He put a foot out and tried to calculate the probability of his own death.

The vibration in his pocket brought the foot back. He pulled his cell out and contemplated dropping it first. He held it over the edge, dark smirk carving his features until he caught sight of the name. The smirk dulled to an uneven stare. He stared over the edge and felt the fear. Chuck pocketed the phone and stepped to the gravel of the courtyard.

He'd never have really done it. It wasn't the conclusion he'd planned and Chuck was nothing if not literal.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"He's not going to answer," Eric explained knowingly as Blair sat in Bart's high backed chair. The thick leather engulfed her slender form, pale fingers jumping nervously on one armrest. The voicemail confirmed Eric's prediction, led to her tossing it on the desk.

"I had to do something. Georgina can't be our hope." Blair closed her eyes and then reopened them. She grabbed the phone again.

"He won't answer." Eric pointed out again but Blair's fingers were flying across the keys, not holding one for speed dial. She didn't stop typing. It wasn't to Chuck.

"We need to find Chuck right? And fast?" She punched send.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see." Blair stood up, plan reenergizing her. It's what she needed, an active occupation, a scheme to devise. "I need the combination to Bart's safe."

"What for?"

"Chuck has always liked abandoned buildings. And there is nothing more available to the child of Bass Industries than empty buildings."

"Come with me," Eric grabbed her hand from the chair and pulled. Her spike in energy was restrengthening his. He led her across the suite, pushed open the door to Chuck's room and returned to the side table. This time he pulled the drawer fully out, flipping it as it crashed. Pens, papers and a hundred coins fell to reveal a set of numbers engraved on the bottom. In truth there were a dozen sets penned and then crossed ending with a final set carved deep. "The combination," He pointed with a smile.

Blair committed the digits to memory and then returned to the office. A pull of the handle later and Blair started piling envelopes on the desk. "Bart always keeps the deeds to buildings in this safe unless they're actively for sale. He also usually keeps a master key for each building."

"So Chuck could get into any of them?"

"He doesn't keep apartment keys, just the master key for the main entrance. So there's no way for Chuck to get into any apartment but if the building was abandoned, being built or under renovation. He'd have a place to perch. He used to throw the craziest impromptu parties in half-finished buildings."

"So what are we looking for?" Eric asked as he grabbed the first bundle.

"You'll know it when you find it," Blair said with a shaky smile. It was her way of admitting she didn't know.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck couldn't stop staring at the slips of sheer fabric, expansive window dressings in a wispy shade of white. They crisscrossed against the largest wall, providing decoration rather than purpose. They fit perfectly with the theme of his new bedroom, but they were all wrong. Chuck took another drag of his cigarette and decided that they looked like angel wings, ethereal and untainted. It made them wrong, gave them no reason to be there.

He took the cigarette between his fingers and pressed it to the fabric, leaving a circular burn to mar the perfection. He took another drag and charred another inch, leaving a pattern of brown rings that destroyed the aesthetic. It fit better that way.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Non Judging Breakfast Club read until their eyes ran red with exhaustion. Blair doing twice the work, secretively rechecking each envelope that Nate searched. It wasn't doing any good. There was just too much. Bart owned too much of New York, there were too many possibilities, their stack of promising leads turning to a pile of unviable depth.

They took breaks, ate through a plate of French fries and tried to call Chuck in shifts. Blair threw three of the envelopes to the unlikely pile with a disgruntled curse. This was useless. She had no idea where he might be. How could one boy outsmart four others? She dragged at her hair, curls long since fallen to an unmanaged wave.

They all jumped when the phone rang, each going for their own cell even though they soon realized Eric's was the one ringing. He held it out, stared at the number in shock. He'd had more hope than Blair but not enough to truly consider it would happen.

He shook his head at the other three and placed the phone on the table, speaker hit for all. "Georgina?" He asked hesitantly, hoping that it wasn't the secretary instead.

"Eric?" The voice that came back was different but it was hers. Blair leaned forward to speak but Serena pulled her back, snapped a quick hand over the brunette's mouth. She shook her blonde tresses and Blair understood. She forced herself to sit back, to do nothing beyond listen. "My director said I could call, said one of my friends was in trouble. Is it Chuck?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Is he? They said he was..."

"He is. He's gone missing."

"Oh."

"Before he took off he wrote about something you did together. I thought if we knew some more about it then we could get an idea of what he's thinking."

"Eric," Georgina's voice was sympathetic but reserved. "Do you know how many drugs I was on back then? I'm missing whole months from my memory."

"Just do your best." Eric said with his own little prayer, not that she could remember but hope that she wasn't playing them. "He wrote about the two of you in Central Park."

"Central Park? That's it?"

"Just think. He wrote that you started something at Central Park that he wished you had finished."

"He wrote that?" Georgina said and the manner of delivery proved that she knew exactly what Chuck had been talking about. It didn't stop her from hesitating and the idea that Georgina Sparks would hesitate over anything, that was the final piece that made Eric's nerves explode in terror.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_The trees were so dense that they blocked the view from every side. If it wasn't for the persistent hum of traffic you could almost forget you were still in New York, you could pretend you were in some forest far from civilization of any sort. Georgina staggered behind him, eleven year old feet still dressed in sensible flats. The leaves crunched uncomfortably beneath his loafers. They were his inside shoes, meant for darting from hotel to limousine and back. Most of his shoes were as functional as him, dampened through with a single misstep. He put a hand into the thick darkness, distracted for a moment by how the moonlight reflected off his fingertips, creating a pattern in shades of grey. It was always about the shades of grey._

_"This way loser," Georgina gave him a shove and he nearly fell over. She wrapped both hands around his and forced him forward, darted beneath a stand of maples to land in a small alcove. It was too silent there, Chuck was positively petrified but he'd never admit it. He'd been schooled on a diet of stories involving muggers and worse that lived in the Park after night. "My spot," She twirled and he caught her smirk in a stream of moonlight. "Your turn," She arched a brow and held her hand out._

_He brandished the pistol as promised. It was a Pistole Revolveur Modele 1892, standard issue for the French Army in 1914, a relic from his father's collection. Bart Bass had a strange fascination with WWI, from era maps to uniforms to fifty-two original firearms, all encased behind glass in his study. Chuck had stolen one on a lark, a promise for a bit of fun. _

_"Will this thing even fire?" Georgina asked doubtfully, turning the revolver from one side to the other. The chamber swung from side to side, held six 8mm rounds per spin._

_"My father wouldn't display it if it wasn't fully functional," Chuck said, and then with a knowing glint produced a box of ammunition. "But if you don't believe me."_

_Georgina's eyebrow spread higher, taunted the moonlight as she held out her slender hand. "Just one." He passed it to her hand and she loaded it immediately, giving the barrel as a spin as she did. "Like the Russians," She giggled and flung it shut without a single look. "What's the chance the Oak will bite it?" She asked as she pointed to the tree apposing her._

_"16.67%" Chuck provided with authority._

_"Oh my god!" Georgina gave a shake of her head. "You really are math man."_

_"You say it like it's a bad thing."_

_"I'm not sure it's entirely good," Georgina arched her brow high and aimed. The trigger gave; a click of metal the only result._

_"It never goes on the first," Chuck teased._

_"How about the second?" Georgina said as she pulled the hammer back._

_"I'd give it a 20% chance."_

_"Really?" Georgina pulled her long hair to one side, leaned against him and then aimed again. This time instead of a click of metal a shot rang, bullet hitting the far oak with a splintering crack, force of the expulsion temporarily deafening them both."_

_For an instant they were both too stunned to speak, the scent of gunpowder choking the air and reminding them what happened even after the echoes died out. Georgina broke the silence first, not with words but a hesitant laugh that spread as her body relaxed, turned maniacal once Chuck joined in._

_Georgina grabbed at the box of bullets that lay beside them, pocketing a half dozen in her loosely-cut jeans. "How many do you think we can fire before the cops bust us?" Georgina breathed, excitement turning her cheeks a flushed pink._

_"Three, four maybe."_

_Two bullets later and her enthusiasm had hardly waned. She'd inched closer to him, climbing fully into his lap and inviting him to cover her hand with his. He wasn't adverse to it, neither to the position which allowed him to naturally bury his head into the crook of her neck._

_"How much?" Georgina asked._

_"50%" Chuck called without hesitation. He didn't need to calculate percentages anymore. It was their fourth round, four chambers proving empty already. There were two chambers left, a single bullet between them._

_Georgina aimed a fired, a brief click and he could feel her straighten against him, her smile changing to bemused smirk. "Percentage," She taunted._

_"I think even you could figure it out; one bullet and one chamber remaining."_

_"100%" Georgina's voice came breathless in awe of that moment._

_Chuck's own smirk grew with her fascination. He pressed a kiss to her neck and then whispered. "So fire."_

_"The oak?" Georgina questioned with a bit of her lip. She pressed her free hand to his knee and shifted slightly. "I was thinking something else."_

_"Maple? Elm? Spruce?" Chuck suggested each with another kiss._

_"Me!" Georgina was out of his lap before he could make her stay, his arm falling helplessly to his side as her rose to her head. She pressed the barrel to her temple and Chuck's amusement turned to outright dread._

_"Georgina, give me the gun,"_

_"Why?"_

_"Come one," He made a quick grabbed but she inched further back. "That isn't funny."_

_"What makes you think it is meant to be?" Georgina suggested, cocking the gun as his face went pale._

_"Stop playing."_

_"Do you think anyone would __really__ miss me if I did it?"_

_Chuck stared at the unshaken blue of her eyes and said the only thing he could. "I would."_

_Georgina smiled and then lowered the pistol to her lap, letting the hammer fall back to its unready state. "Well then..."_

_"Can I have it now?" Chuck put his hand foward, leaned his whole body to take it from her._

_The smile dropped to a glare faster than Chuck could anticipate. "What about you?" She had the metal pressed to his forehead before he could throw a hand up to deflect. _

_"Georgie!"_

_"Tell me Charlie. Who would miss you?"_

_"Put the gun down."_

_"Wrong answer," She cocked it again. _

_"This is not some game."_

_"Are you scared Charlie?" She asked even though she could see the drips of perspiration form on his forehead. "Or are you happy?"_

_"Georgie!"_

_"Tell me that you're only scared. That no part of you wants it and then I won't have to do it."_

_"Don't be stupid."_

_"Wrong answer again," She said it with a disappointed shrug of her shoulders._

_"Georg..." The third recitation died as she pulled the trigger. He heard the click of the chamber and then everything fell to blankness. He existed a moment as nothing, neither breath nor heartbeat to demonstrate life. He heard nothing except the soft mumbling of his name. Then there was a hand, a soft feminine hand. _

_He'd done it then. Despite all odds he'd ended in heaven. It hardly seemed likely._

_Then he noticed something else. The tickling breath was laced with vodka._

_"I didn't put a bullet in you stupid git!"_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair could hear Eric call her name before her appeared before her. She would have called an answer but her tongue was numb. Her entire body was numb; it was a wonder she was still upright.

"Are you alright?" Eric put a hand to her arm, rubbed it three times as he waited for her answer.

It was a stupid question and if she could just drag her eyes from their point of fixation she'd have told him so. How could one be alright in a situation like this? It was enough to survive. She'd fled the study halfway through Georgina's little tale. It wasn't jealousy, or maybe that's just not what it felt like. She'd didn't want to hear the psycho spin a tale, truth or fiction, where the main character was Chuck Bass. "Just tell me something."

"What?"

"That doesn't mean what I think it does?" She let her finger point to the source of her eye's obsession: A wall of uniforms and maps, of pistols and revolvers. They were classified, ordered in a hierarchical pattern, everything perfect except for one empty space.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stood back to admire his handiwork. He'd tired of paper, of fountain pen. He'd changed the method, the mode of delivery. He'd turned the perfect silver wall of his bedroom to canvas, used a sharpie to scribble an expansive collection of words. Sherman had spent one entire session having him define himself through words, in situations.

He'd done it again, had scrawled Chuck Bass at the centre, his personality put to namesake. It wasn't like last time though: bold had been replaced by brash, intelligent by shrewd, confident by egotistic. Those words eventually drowned out by the hundred that had filled the wall after, a narrative of what it meant to be him; alcoholic, deceiver, fraud, arrogant, presumptuous, vulgar... He wrote until the sharpie died between his fingers, rapist scrawled out in a pasty grey. It was fitting, that word haunted him more than the rest. Chuck tossed the pen into the fire and stepped back, eyes swallowing the impression rather than the specifics.

Looking at that wall it was easy to understand why he was _hard to love._ It was more than that. Staring at those words he realized that loving Chuck Bass was downright impossible!

Chuck threw his suit jacket to the floor, kicked off his loafers and let his body fall to the kind sized bed. He crawled forward, buried his face into the thick pillow, exhaustion burying his thoughts even deeper. He snaked both hands beneath his head, beneath the silk of his pillow. He let one rest on his cell phone, still ringing despite the early hour, the other finding the handle of an early twentieth century pistol.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Remember Eric's throwaway comment from TH? Where he suggested Chuck take his room in the Ostroff Centre. It's not quite so throwaway anymore. I really hadn't set out to write something this harsh but I think the Chuck in my story just had enough._

_Sky Samuelle – Bart...Bart...Bart. He threw Chuck right over the edge without even realizing. As for a CE talk, I think we need that more than anything else right about now._

_Oc-Journey – A new reader :) You've definately got your dark Chuck story here._

_SilkenBone – Thanks :) Hopefully you still think it's beautiful angst after this._

_Nostaliakills – I'm going to suggest you reconsider wanting Chuck to know about him mom. Remember that he took some serious revenge against his dad because he thought his father was to blame. If he finds out his father is innocent, well he's already off the rocker as it is._

_Bradshaw-esque – it looks like you got your wish for a Georgina cameo and a scene ala flashback. It's kind of nuts in and of itself when you think I put Georgina in there to actually dial back the level of crazy. As for Chuck & Lewis hooking up, it's not going to happen for a very important reason._

_Annablake – Yeah, apparently there's some CB in the new episode (finally!). We'll see if it's any good though as there's also B and apparently everyone else under the sun :P I give you a gold star for mentioning suicidal in your review. You're the only one who got it (which means I might just have some angry reviews this time around). _

_Princetongirl – thanks :)_

_CBEBTR trory12 – Yeah, he's fully psycho now. I'll understand if you want to stop reading too. If you're still peeking from between your fingers let me assure you that by the end of Ch 10 there will be a resolution of sorts._

_Up Next – psycho Chuck starts making phone calls. The NJFC might just need to reconsider their wish for the same._


	27. Chapter Ten Part Three

_A/N – Angst warning in place until the beginning of chapter 11_

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Ten – Part Three**

The Basses walked the winding streets, cobblestone mingling with paved road, trees sheltering century old buildings, cold green roofs dangling into the spring sky. She'd let him manoeuvre at the restaurant, his French was more than passable but hers was exacting and she was the one to negotiate elsewhere. He didn't mind and that alone amused Lily because she'd fallen for the high powered executive. Even on their wedding day, she'd considered him cold, calculating, dominating to the edge of dictatorial. Now, with his eyes shaded by an endless row of maples, she knew that coldness was really detachment, and calculation and domination were the twinned results of fear. She'd seen him through the last year, shared enough to tear down the one-sided character she'd constructed. He was still temperate at best, his strongest emotion anger but he cared enough for his son, for her family, even for her to paint him as amiable. That was the point of intrigue; her fascination sparked more by the betrayal of expectation than for any genuine virtue.

Bart slipped his hand through hers and the warmth of his hand made her smile but when he tried hide a yawn with the other hand, that's when the smile stretched wide enough to display her perfect white teeth. "Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Lily suggested. That was enough to chase away Bart's sleepiness, at least temporarily. He arched a brow and Lily tried to smoother her chuckle, failing when his brow dropped to yawn again. "To sleep."

"We only have two days," Bart reminded her.

"To rest!" Lily gave a tug at their still linked hands. "To reenergize!"

He might have argued but the third yawn, like a third strike called him out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Central Park stretched miles wide, to search it, even in daylight was an unfeasible task. In darkness, with only the single beam of a flashlight, it was downright impossible. Still Blair and Nate were set to the task, bundled in fleece and flats, barely speaking. Nate had volunteered the moment Blair had tossed on her jacket and insisted on leaving. He owed it to her. After her earlier confession, and his solitary surprise, Nate figured he owed her a hell of a lot. How could he have been her boyfriend that many years and been the only clueless one? How the hell could Eric Van der Woodsen have known before him? Nate caught his ex in the spotlight and realized, being a terrible boyfriend must not have started with too much champagne and too short skirts.

So Nate trailed her through the park, more travelling puppy than companion but a strength all the same. He tolerated her short temper and angry outbursts because he finally valued the strength of her attachment. She might deny it if asked outright but she was devoted to Chuck Bass. It was simply in the most complicated, unworkable way possible.

Blair heard the crack before Nate, jolt of fright sending her back a foot. Nate clipped to attention at her distress, waved a hand through the black at some unknown assailant. They'd been schooled like the object of their pursuit, trained to fear the park after dark. The noise repeated and then something ran, causing them both to raise a light to it. A rat briefly appeared in their glow before disappearing to the other side. "Let's go back," Nate suggested and that's when Blair knew, she might have jumped but he was more petrified. "Eric said it's unlikely he's here."

Blair shook her head at Nate. He understood. There was no better time for Nate to demonstrate, to show that the bonds of friendship outweighed anything else. She should have known better. She shined her flashlight right into the eyes, illuminated his cowardice. "You are one shitty friend," She said it simply.

"What?" Nate's eyes narrowed not just because of the light. "I am not."

"Oh please!" Blair let the light drop, marched further down the path on her own.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Weren't you supposed to be looking out for him?" Blair squared her shoulders. "You, Serena?"

"We _were_ taking care of him."

"Did a _really_ good job."

"At least we were trying," Nate's voice rose.

"Oh," Blair kicked her heels a little harder. "It was a genuine _Nate Archibald _effort!"

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say; I should buy you a dictionary," Blair tossed her hair. "So you could figure out what _effort_ really means."

"Excuse me!" Nate grabbed her arm. He didn't need to; she was around to face him before he did, light trained back their way.

"You're not exactly known for trying hard. In fact, you don't try at all. You just feel blindly for the easiest ride," Blair shouted through the night. "Or the closest warm body," She finished with a pull of her arm. His face twisted in retort, trading his beautiful face for one that was almost, but not quite, unattractive. "I guess it's hard to notice your best friend having a breakdown when your eyes never reach further than your own navel."

"But you knew?" Nate threw back angrily. "Because the last time _I _checked you were the one telling him to go to hell!"

It wasn't often that Nate got the last word, but the image was sufficient enough to silence them both. Blair tried to throw it back, to stiffen her chin and grasp an insult as harsh. It wouldn't come. Her chin shook instead and despite the fighting, the cruelly intermingling truths Nate still gave her a hug and whispered that he was sorry. The facts couldn't blur their mutual fears, or alter their shared affection for one brown haired boy.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Before the first ray of amber dusted the morning sky, before the relative quiet of night traffic turned to day, Chuck had traded his mattress for the floor. He couldn't sleep. The silk wrapped around, lulling him only in the deepest state of exhaustion. When that worst state of fatigue had passed his mind had pulled him back to consciousness. Now he sat on the floor, legs crisscrossed awkwardly beneath him, forehead pressed to the side of the bed. His eyes were still heavy, but his mind could not be trained to sleep. So he smoked his seventh cigarette, letting it dangle as freely as his head. His phone buzzed on the side table and Chuck threw his body enough to catch it in his hand. He rolled far enough to read the call display, standing only when the ringing ceased.

He pulled his pained legs beneath him and moved to another silver wall. He added a slash beneath Blair's name. It was an impromptu tally, scrawled this time in blue. It was an exercise for his mind, something to fill the ceaseless empty moments. Once the task was complete he dropped again to the floor, studied the chart with his eyes. There was a story contained within those lines, crossing and crisscrossing to reveal a relationship.

Nate's calls always followed Serena's, a ceaseless pattern that proved they worked as one.

Blair's was the most regular, the more persistent. He could time the hour to her flashing name. She called the first minute of each hour, obsessively hitting redial until optimism turned to frustration and the calls ceased entirely. She was the most like him.

Eric's column told the most interesting of the four. It was entirely empty, proving that the youngest Van der Woodsen was either three quarters genius or just as screwed up as he was. Chuck preferred the second option, but once he realized that Eric's was the only number he wished to dial, then Chuck knew it had to be the first.

There was another story in those slashes, a conflict that Chuck could not reconcile. It'd forced him to pull only his phone from the bed, to remember the first of Georgina's question. No matter how undeserved, no matter how much he had cheated and scarred those four, they would still miss him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The thick blanket of night had yet to be chased to morning, two blonde heads fast asleep despite the litter of coffee cups at their feet. Serena was curled to her boyfriend, beauty multiplied as they slept soundly on the couch. The other blonde head was still awake, eyes surprisingly wide, hands jotting down ideas in a spiral binder. Blair was with him, coffee cup burning a line across her hand. Her eyes were as alert, the journey taking far more caffeine than it had for Eric.

"We need to call Bart," Blair decided as the new day's fourth hour turned to the fifth.

"He's useless," Eric negated the suggestion. Blair started to disagree but Eric cut her off. "He's worse than useless, he's downright dangerous."

Blair hammered her pen to paper. She didn't disagree with either point but Bart Bass was Chuck's father. "He still might be able to help us."

"He flew away with my mom. They went off the map."

Blair could have rolled her eyes. It was very, nearly predictable. "I'm sure we could find them if we tried."

"We probably could," Eric admitted. "If we wanted to."

"Don't you think..."

"Let me ask you this." Eric let his elbows drop to the table, ran a hand through his matted locks. "How many times has Chuck overdosed?" He thought she might know, but the flicker of unease proved she didn't. She didn't try to answer, she was too afraid to. Eric didn't put it to words either, he held up two fingers until the message was clear.

She didn't ask about Bart again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Despite two weeks to planned occupation, the water was warm to his touch. Chuck put his whole hand in, cupped it and then watched it trickle out. The swimming pool stretched nearly the length of the apartment itself, seven pillars dividing it, holding up the rising four floors and giving it an almost Grecian feel. The drops ceased, the water shifted and then went still again, a mirror of clear blue glass that held his reflection. He was a sight to behold. His shirt was untucked, cuffs rolled, neck open to reveal a gold necklace. It hung from his neck, dangled inches from the water. His hair was untamed and hanging flat around his eyes. His skin was pale, cheeks sunken. He could train no smirk from his lips, they hung in a determinedly neutral line, matched his eyes which stared back expressionless. Chuck slapped the water with an open hand, erased the image as easily as it had formed. He stood and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the tile, adding to the creases which zigzagged every inch. His pants were next, slipped over bare feet and kicked to the pile.

Chuck threw his body off the ledge, replaced reflection with form. The flash of warmth startled him, thick chlorine burning his eyes as he forced them open. He didn't fight to the surface; he let his body fall downward, traded technique for weightlessness and waited for the moment he struck bottom. There he laid, arms stretched out to the side, legs dangling below. He shut his eyes and experienced his own insubstantialness, light buoyancy moving his limbs in time to a nonexistent tide, hair feathered from side to side. He stayed until survival forced him upward, lungs crying for air, mind sober enough to capitulate.

His head broke the surface with a gasp, ringing in his ears from two sources. Once the panic passed, when his chest was fully filled he lay back. He floated across the surface and tried to rediscover the peace he'd found below. He tried to think, to focus on his present or some unwritten future. He tried to shift from the past or baring that, find some hope in experience. He tried to reason, contemplate or ponder but he couldn't. The shrill ring of the phone broke his concentration every time. It taunted him from across the room, hidden in the folds of his wool pants. He learned to hate it, the chains that helped to keep him suspended.

He threw his body downward again, found calm in the silent rush of water, the state of nothingness he found. He wanted to be nothing; neither good nor bad, neither innocent nor guilty. He wanted to lapse to a nonentity in order to circumvent not the world's judgement but his own.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By afternoon the pecking order was firmly entrenched. Eric, despite being the youngest of the four, had taken the lead. He had the composure and the experiences to not be terrified or at least to act despite it. Serena had to put aside her sibling seniority and Nate was forced to reconsider Blair's earlier insults but both did so happily in return for the youngest's serenity. Eric kept Blair at his side, confiding every thought in her and listening closest to her response. Blair found her own relief in letting him take the head, in stepping back when her emotions tripped to close to the surface. They often did. She couldn't feign indifference anymore, couldn't play at anything but the truth. The others didn't comment on it, they showed their respect by a turn of the head and their concern by making sure she ate and finally putting her to sleep without mentioning the reason for a lack of either. She was resting now, cradled in Serena's pillows, eyes closed to the world.

Serena and Nate were searching the apartments of New York: uptown, downtown and parts beyond. They'd divided up the Bass Industry keys, doubling the land they could cover, Serena heading to the north and Nate taking the southerly route. They communicated by phone, tried to keep each other motivated when twelve buildings turned to twenty, Blair's brilliant plan playing out as an unfeasible excavation. Bart Bass owned half of New York.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The light of the morning sun had crested and begun to dip before Bart shifted beneath the luxury comforter, tossed it aside and felt the blast of cold air from an open bay window. He put a hand to the side only to find it empty. That's when he knew how late it was. Lily was a night owl, read by lamplight and didn't stir before ten each morning. Bart's head was still groggy, twelve hours of sleep lulling rather than regenerating his fatigue.

He smelled the pancakes, rich strawberry syrup clawing at the emptiness of his stomach. It made him turn and once he did, Bart caught sight of Lily. She was reclined on the room's overstuffed chair, legs curled beneath her, hair hanging undone. That wasn't the unusual sight, it was her gaze. It was trained right on him, she stared without flinching, studying him. He was the one to cringe, to recoil away. His wife had taken to gazing, to watching him with unhidden intent. He'd have asked her what she meant by it but Bart knew when to play and when to hold. Their alliance was shaky enough as it was.

"Why did you marry me?" Lily asked it casually and then waited as relaxed for the answer. Bart couldn't mirror the state of calm, not when they were already on the verge of divorce and the truth would likely only push them over. "I mean I know _why _you remarried_, _just not why you chose me."

"I don't think that..."

"It's just a question. I know that you wanted a mother for Charles. I just wonder why you picked me. You had a revolving door of applicants."

Bart pulled himself along the headboard, arched his back until his shoulders touched the oak. He was going to need to be sitting for this. "I respected you."

"Why?"

"I'd watched Serena really mature. She'd gone from an irresponsible teen to a young woman."

Lily gave a nod of her head, a slow nod that showed she understood. He married her hoping she'd have the same influence on Chuck and for a while she had. "I..."

"I'm sorry," Lily looked up again. She met his eyes with that curiously fixed stare. "For what I did, I am truly sorry."

"I've already forgiven you," Bart reminded her.

"How can you do that? Just forgive and forget as if it was nothing?"

"It wasn't nothing," Bart acknowledged.

"So why?"

"Because sometimes in life, we all deserve a second chance."

"How do you know I won't do it again?"

"I don't. But you're not the only one who needed a second chance."

Her eyes widened as she finally understood. This hadn't been about her infidelity; this hadn't been about her at all. It was still entirely about Misty, about that affair and his response to it. Lily felt naive because she'd let herself romanticise something that wasn't even about her.

"Lily..."

She's the one who'd fallen for the kneeling husband. And that was the problem and the reasons she wound her legs tighter. She'd realized as he slept, calm brow and even breaths. He was beautiful in his own way, as considerate as careless, affectionate as withdrawn. She'd realized that her intrigue was really the root of something deeper. There was enough there for her to love. She just didn't want to be alone in the affection.

"I am..."

"I gave up my first love for you," Lily interrupted abruptly. "But can you do the same for me?" The way he drew his face away, jaw turning hard she already a good guess of the final answer but she wanted it all the same. "Could you love me?"

Bart closed his eyes as she asked it. He was tempted to lie to preserve his family. He really did respect her, even adored her in ways. He wanted to love her but he'd selected her precisely because he couldn't. It wasn't for the reason Lily thought. Bart would always love Misty, how could he not? He'd loved his first wife since he was thirteen; they'd crafted an empire and built a family. Misty had ripped an unmendable hole in his life the moment she left it, but that wasn't the reason for his closure. He wasn't some romantic, born to love once and once only. It was simply that he couldn't love Lily. On some days Bart thought he'd picked Lily to preserve his attachment to Misty. He'd deliberately selected a woman that couldn't compare. He might respect Lily as an individual but she was still the epitome of everything he despised. She was born to wealth, lazy and irresponsible. She had no drive to education, to employment, to anything beyond the expectations of a societal woman. She was as superficial as the class that embraced her, but in the end, it wouldn't have mattered. She was still the best example of that class and Bart could have stay married to Lily a lifetime, cared for her, been faithful and devoted. He could have been a good husband if she had just not asked that question. "I..." Bart put a hand to his head, grogginess multiplying with his stress. "I..."

"That's all I needed to know," Lily broke her gaze at last and they sat in silence. Where could they go from there? What was there left?

"I'll call the lawyers," He offered with a final look upward, and the recline of his head against the bed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck put one foot to the other, dangled his last cigarette between dehydrated lips. He stood in the centre of his sister's room and rediscovered his smirk. He'd run away from his silver walled rooms only to land in a sea of pink and lace. Serena Van der Woodsen's room was entirely unsuitable, more Barbie than beautiful. The walls were coated in rich pink, light texture the only division between teen and baby girl. The silver lace curtains were closer to her taste but further from her desires. Serena would hate this room from first sight.

For some reason that amused him. Perhaps it was because for all his welcoming warmth, Bart Bass didn't know Serena any better than his own son. Maybe it was because despite everything that had occurred between them, Chuck still knew her through and through. Chuck walked to his father's study, grabbed the slowly disappearing packed of permanent pens and returned. He dumped them on the bed and stared, fingers dangling over the green and then the purple, mind debating which suited the golden goddess best.

The ring broke his concentration again, but this time when he pulled it from the pocket it wasn't to toss it again but to smirk further. Serena's name lit the screen and for that moment it was alright, his delight had chased away enough of his gloom. So he answered.

"Chuck! Oh my god! Are you there?" The words blended to a single sound, drowned out any greeting he might have attempted.

"Hello sis," He recovered through her sharp intake of breath.

"Are you alright?"

Chuck ignored the question. He grabbed the two markers as she filled the silence with other questions he didn't intend to answer. "If you could have a new bedroom what colour would you paint it?" Chuck asked.

"Chuck, where are you?"

"Green or purple?"

"Come on Chuck!"

"Green or purple?"

Serena bit at her nail; dug her heels into the elevator wall and decided she'd better play. "Purple."

Chuck tossed the green over one shoulder, uncapping her choice with the emptied hand. He coloured the wall in broad strokes, long dark lines that clashed with the established decor.

"Chuck!" She began in a continuing litany. He didn't listen, coloured further until he'd decorated nearly half the wall. It wasn't as fun as he'd predicted. In fact, it was closer to tedious. A sigh later he tossed the purple tube to join the other.

"Please, we're all worried."

That was the wrong thing to say! It didn't comfort Chuck, quite the contrary. He could feel his thoughts twist as she uttered the words, the pressure in his chest building with every syllable. They weren't supposed to care. They needed to stop calling. Why didn't they understand, he wasn't worth caring about? They ought to hate him too. "It would have been an easy choice if I picked gold," he spat angrily, change of tone throwing Serena off, stalling her course of action. "You like to think of yourself as gold, purified by fire."

"Where are you?"

"You're not pure. You're just like your mother."

"Chuck!" Serena's voice rose enough to tempt him, to push him further.

"How's Nate?"

"He's worried."

"Still pretending you want him? Still pretending you can fall for him when you're really in love with Brooklyn trash."

"Chuck! That is not..."

"You and your mom are exactly alike. Play with the golden dream, lust after the tarnished silver."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It's even the same family," Chuck pointed out, sardonic laughter joining his next cut. "You want to fuck the same god damn family!"

"Shut up Chuck."

He cut the call, obeyed the wish he'd pushed to hear. Chuck put the phone on the table, tension expanding and then rushing from his body, leaving him frighteningly calm. He'd captured the moment; let one tiny segment of conflict pull free, dissipating from his psyche. He was comforted, relieved even to know that one less person cared.

He marched back to the silver room and with one sharp movement crossed Serena's column through.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was still half asleep when she heard the phone ring. She grabbed Serena's robe from the floor, wrapt herself in the fleece before she stepped from the sheets. She could hear Eric talk the moment she'd entered the hall, the context coming clear as she entered the kitchen. Once she heard Eric's attempts to calm the sister she jogged the last few feet, moved to stand over the last remaining blonde.

"You need to calm down," Eric was urging Serena through the phone, expression growing panicked when he caught sight of his right hand woman. "Take some deep breaths."

Blair could hear Serena crying through the phone, her fear immediately tripped to paralyzing fright. "Have they found him?" She whispered it into Eric's ear, breathing again only when he denied it with a shake of his head.

"He talked to Serena," Eric explained with a hand over the mouth piece.

"Really?" Blair's panic changed to excitement. Her eyes grew large, her hands made a grab for the phone. "Where is he? Is he alright?"

"Serena, you need to take some deep breaths and then tell me calmly."

"Why is she upset?" Blair interrupted. "What did he say?"

"I'm trying to find out!" He paused into the phone, waited a few more moments with nothing beyond calming noises. He gave Serena the time to calm herself and the chance to relate the story. When she did Eric's expression turned darker, went grim enough to scare Blair again. "You need to come back to the house," Eric made the decision. "We need to stay together."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck lay against the lightest sofa, let his legs dangle from one side. His hands were shaking and he had no cigarettes left to light. So he pulled at his medallion, twisted the gold chain between his fingers and watched the gift spin. St. Christopher winked with every turn, guardian of travellers grazing his fingertips and light flashing upward in a continuing pattern, hypnotising his eyes if not his mind. It didn't succeed as nicotine might. His soft lull of calm was falling to pieces, being replaced again by nervous tension. He could feel his muscles tighten, anxiety pushing his thoughts to uncomfortable depths. Why couldn't he stay calm? Why couldn't he manage? The phone rang beside him. He offered it the briefest glance, eyes turning quickly back to his turning prize, mouth twisting to a malevolent smile.

"Hello Nathaniel," He opened the phone without a second look, had it pressed to his ear without a second thought.

"Chuck! Where are you?"

"Here, there" Chuck caught the saint between his fingers and then released him again. "Everywhere."

"We've all been looking for you!"

"You shouldn't," Chuck started and then shifted his thoughts. Took the path he needed to. "I miss having you as a neighbour."

"I do too."

"We used to have a lot of good times."

"We still do."

"Do you remember your eighth birthday? You got the new snowboard."

"Yes."

"I remember I borrowed it that weekend. Had the first ride, cracked it right through on a tree."

"You were in a cast for four weeks."

"You were so mad you refused to sign it," Chuck remembered. "I think that's what I remember most about having you as a neighbour. Taking everything from you, breaking all your toys."

"Chuck," Nate kept his voice calm, tried to detour Chuck to different territory. "That's not..."

"I've always taken everything from you," Chuck's smile twisted darker as he said it. "You really shouldn't be surprised that I'd fuck Blair."

"That's ancient history man."

"Really?" "How about Vanessa?"

"What about Vanessa?" Nate was trying so hard to be neutral but Chuck could hear the clues, the slight drop in voice, the slowing of syllable. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"I fucked her too."

"I don't believe you."

"Had her withering beneath me, crying out Chuck with every gasp."

"I know you're lying. She wouldn't sleep with you."

"She has the most tantalizing line of freckles over her right hipbone, shaped like an arrow pointing right to sweet release." Chuck stopped the medallion's spin, held it between his fingers and waited for the truth to settle. Nate sputtered for a response his words half formed and then abandoned. Chuck counted the seconds from shock to astonishment and from resentment to fury. He waited until Nate formed a reply to cut through it.

"I don't know why..."

"The thing is I didn't even want her. She wasn't special or meaningful or anything different from the countless other whores I've done it with. I think I just wanted to upstage you..."

"Fuck you Chuck," Nate finally lashed and Chuck shut his phone. Chuck knew he could do it, understood that even if Nate played at being cool and collected there was still a part of him that could be enraged.

Chuck lay the phone down and felt whole. The warped sense of calm returned; the one that blossomed with the breaking of a tie and the removal of one more reason for holding on. Chuck crossed Nate's name through and laughed, a long and perverse laugh that echoed through the empty house.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Does anyone still want to save psychoChuck?_

_Sky Samuelle – In the end they'll all have their own role (even Nate believe it or not)._

_CBEBTR trory – BNSE are definately working hard and it's going to pay off._

_Bradshawesque – One of the important reasons is that Lewis is in her early thirties and not her twenties (as everyone assumes)_

_Annablake – Bart is in denial. Let's put it this way, as per this canon he was with Misty for over twenty years and yet she only got help for her mental issues in the last year. We're up against some pretty heavy denial. It's going to really hurt when the wool gets pulled. (hopefully you still like Chuck after this)._

_Princetonegirl – thanks :)_

_Modernxxmyth – thanks :)_

_Felicia – I know what you mean, the word angst makes me wince sometimes too but hopefully you'll enjoy this tale_

_Midnight Sky – You still not want me to kill Chuck :)_

_OC Journey – there's something permanent too about writing on a wall. It can't be covered up :)_

_Up Next – Chuck will make only one more phone call. Who is he going to pick?_


	28. Chapter Ten Part Four

**Grand Romantic Gestures**

**Chapter Ten – Part Four**

"Dan Humphrey?" Blair's astonishment went to anger and Eric stepped between the two. His sister had returned to the suite, had related her story of Chuck's phone call, of what he had said and more importantly what she had said in return.

"Blair," Eric looped an arm around her. "What's done is done. Let's focus..."

"You told him to shut up because he insulted Dan!"

"Blair." Eric tried to calm her again.

Blair couldn't be. She stared at Serena, accusations flying through her mind, words as nasty as Serena's had been moderate. Then Serena started to cry again and when Blair saw the genuine guilt, she swallowed her own anger, took several deep breaths and sat on the closest sofa. Blair felt so completely powerless and that was an emotion she could never manage. There was nothing she could do or say to tip the scales. She couldn't pay someone, or manipulate something. She couldn't do a single thing. She couldn't even be called first, be called at all.

"Where is Nate?" Serena asked.

"He didn't answer his phone," Eric admitted.

"I'll try him again," Serena grabbed her cell. "He had trouble with reception in a couple of the buildings."

Blair and Eric exchanged a look. It might have been the truth if they'd called only once but they'd tried a dozen different times. They wouldn't confide their suspicions to Serena, not until the blonde was sure herself.

Serena knew the truth before the knock came, a hesitant tap that announced the return of their fourth. She'd added another half dozen calls to their effort but Nate didn't answer a single. They all knew when Nate entered the suite, head bowed and eyes as guilty as sin. Chuck had already called him and based by how haunted the boy's eyes were, it would be so much worse than Serena's tale.

"What did you do?" The accusation was on Blair's lips before Nate could even speak.

"He called me," Nate acknowledged first. "He made me lose my temper."

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him to fuck off," Nate admitted with a rub of his eyes. What a brilliant friend he turned out to be. He told his suicidal best friend to fuck off. Blair was entirely right, he was useless.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Blair was across the room before the others could intervene. She smacked him across the head, nothing playful in her violent motion. "You idiot!" She hit him again second strike following quickly after, third strike prevented by a grab of her fist. Serena arched her back and tried to pull her smaller friend back. It proved difficult, Blair pushed forward with as much strength, tried to kick when her hands were held back.

It took a combined effort to force her backward, Eric adding an arm to his sister's and a calming voice to the melee. Blair was pulled back, returned to the sofa, forced to remain there. She turned her eyes to the opposite wall. She bartered her anger away piece by piece, forced herself to refocus on the task. It was hard not just because of its force, but because when the anger left it was replaced by other uncomfortable emotions. She was hurt, overlooked, even unnaturally jealous. Why wouldn't Chuck call her? She wanted so much to hear his voice, to reassure him. She wanted to save him.

"What did he say?" Serena asked as her boyfriend took his own seat.

"He had sex with Vanessa," Nate sat with his legs outstretched, crossed his hands and ran his finger along the knuckle of the other hand.

"No he didn't." Blair rolled her eyes at the thought. That was just absurd!

"He did. He knew things that you could only know if," Nate gave a flip of his bangs, a meaningful look to the others. He wasn't going to put it to words.

"Please. What are the chances of that?"

"Chances or not," Nate began but Blair cut him off again.

"He's depressed. Right now he hates himself and he wants everyone else to hate him. He'll say whatever it takes."

"Blair," Nate's voice went firmer, his eyes went right to his former girlfriend. "It _is _true. I called Vanessa to ask."

"When?" Blair didn't allow her disbelief to drop; she held it up like a shield. "When was this supposed to happen?"

"I don't know," Nate broke his hands, threw one arm back to the arm rest. "We didn't get that far before Vanessa told me that her private life was none of my damn business!"

Serena sat beside her best friend, tried to put a hand on the brunette's arm but she threw it off, inched further to the side and stared further off to the distance. "If Vanessa says it is then it must be true," Serena tried in the most calming voice she could muster. Blair wanted to pretend it wasn't the truth, wanted to toss her hair back as if it meant nothing, wanted to throw up the dinner they'd forced on her. "I know that you love Chuck...'

"I do not," Blair spat on instinct. It wasn't an artful lie. Even if Serena hadn't meant romantically they all loved Chuck. That's why they were here. Blair squared her shoulders, dug her nails into the upholstery and challenged any of them to contradict. They didn't dare.

"Let's focus on the present," Eric broke the growing stalemate and refocused them to task. "Let's find Chuck."

"We've been trying," Serena reminded her brother. She sat beside Nate on the couch, exhaustion taking its own toll.

"He called us," Nate put an arm around his girlfriend. "That must mean something."

"Why is he doing it?" Serena asked. "Is it what Blair said? Is he feeding his depression?"

"I think that's part of it," Eric admitted. "I think he wants to push us all away too but that's not all of it." Eric's mind had been working non stop and he had a number of theories. He was just struggling to reconcile them all. "I think he's testing us too."

"What kind of test?" Blair asked.

"What is the one thing Chuck's been missing since his mom died?"

"Family?" Nate said.

"Affection?" Serena tried.

"Love," Blair's eyes widened in understanding. She finally grasped the total picture, cracks and all. Eric shared a nod with his apprentice while the others scoffed.

"We love Chuck," They chimed.

"Unconditional love," Blair nearly smiled at the simplicity of it. "That's what Misty was so great at. Chuck was the moodiest, most temperamental and sometimes downright rotten kid but Misty never lost her patience with him. She loved him no matter what he did."

"Bart restricts his love to approval, offers it up freely when Chuck achieves and withdraws it as completely when he fails." Eric completed the puzzle for the benefit of the rest.

"So he wants us to love him no matter what he says or does to us?" Serena asked.

"I think he wants us to help," Eric admitted. "If he didn't he'd have taken his passport and flown to the other side of the world. He wants us to stop him but he's too afraid to ask. He doesn't trust anyone."

"We need to prove ourselves," Nate finished the idea, one hand going again to his face and the other to Serena. He squeezed his girlfriend's hand in his. It was humbling to know they had both had their chance and failed miserably.

"So that's it?" Serena took a deep breath. "We just wait until he calls one of you?"

"That can't be all," Blair suggested to Eric.

"We need to go over everything he said," Eric suggested. "Word for word."

"Why?" Serena asked with a look at her boyfriend. Some things were better left unsaid.

"If he broke down enough to call you two then maybe he offered something more than an insult. There might be a clue to where he is or something minor that might lead us there."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck spun the pistol on his side table; hammer locked and trigger rubbing against his finger as it turned. The gun scuffed as it moved, light scraping noises centering him on the moment. He tried to formulate his words. There was so much he could use against Blair, so many stories he could twist and turn, so many weaknesses he could manipulate but the thought of doing it again, of harming her was as exhausting as liberating. He had hurt her so much already. What triumph could there be in kicking her again, in deepening her anguish or solidifying her unhappiness? He wanted to give her something else but he couldn't offer anything else. He was too dysfunctional to offer love that didn't end with wounding.

Then he knew what he had to do. He needed to give truth instead. He wouldn't twist her history, he'd tell her his without the blessing of distance or reserve. He'd do it knowing how much it would hurt them both. He'd do it because when it was all over, she would understand why they had ended the way they had.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena had started despite her reservations. She told the entire room about her brother's taunting, the comparisons to her mother and Chuck's insistence that she was still in love with Dan. She caught her boyfriend's eyes as she said the last. Serena had never put it to words, had never spoken about Dan at all but the doubt had lingered. Now as her eyes dropped over Chuck's truth Nate had his own assurance. Nate hid his response behind a sip of coffee, gulped the tart liquid so he couldn't question. This wasn't about the two of them. They'd have time to discuss it later and Serena wouldn't be the only one with a confession when they did.

"Why was he going on about her bedroom?" Blair hit upon the part that didn't belong.

Eric shook his head. He had no idea.

"Aren't we over thinking this?" Nate asked. "If Chuck has gone nuts then what's the chance anything he is doing or saying makes sense?"

They all turned on him at that. It was a logical deduction but to give into it meant giving up their hopes. Nate saw the hostility and instantly corrected himself. He took another sip of coffee and volunteered to start his tale. They waited and he spoke. "He told me that he missed having me as a neighbour. He went over this story from when we were eight, a snowboard that he borrowed and cracked."

"I remember that one," Serena nodded her head. "It was bright blue with purple racing stripes."

Nate was surprised she did, brow arching at her perfect recollection.

"I bought it for you!" Serena reminded him.

"Oh!" Now Nate remembered why he had been so mad at Chuck over something that could so easily be replaced.

"Do you think he's in an apartment on his childhood street?" Eric suggested to the rest.

"We already checked all of Bart's holdings on that street." Serena negated the idea. "They're all empty."

"Could he be staying with someone?" Nate offered.

"I think someone else would notice his mood," Blair pointed out meaningfully. Nate got the cut and when the other suggestions fell flat, he continued his story.

"He said he missed taking things from me and breaking them," Nate admitted with a look downward. "He said he only slept with Vanessa to get the better of me." Nate ran a hand through his hair again, didn't dare a look at Blair.

She sat with her feet primly crossed, colour slowly draining from every inch of her face. She tried to stay neutral, to stay poised and play it off. She breathed deeply and tried to act the part of disinterested observer. It didn't work. If Chuck had said that about Vanessa, then what had been his intent with her? Even with everything that had gone after, it was too tempting to believe her deflowering a game between two competing boys.

"Do I really need to get into specifics?" Nate asked with a meaningful glance to his left.

"I think that..." Eric started but Blair cut him off.

"Do you think he might still be here?" Blair suggested.

"In the suite?" Serena arched her brow in disbelief. Her friend was too smart to offer such an asinine suggestion.

"No" Blair shook her head. "In the Palace itself. He's talking about Serena's bedroom and having Nate as a neighbour. Maybe he doesn't mean literal neighbour or maybe he just means neighbour to where Nate is now. He might be in a room somewhere."

The three shared a look. It was a stretch but not an entirely illogical one. Serena offered to call the desk, to have individual rooms searched. It gave them something to try.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck's finger lingered over the send button. He studied the number, each digit that'd he pushed in sequence. He'd entered them by hand even though Blair was still on his speed dial. He wanted to prolong to the moment, give himself time to work up his strength or abandon his plan. This was it. Nothing would be the same once the truth came out.

And that's why he had to do it. He couldn't leave her dangling for months like he had been. He didn't want to give her the kind of pain he had experienced when his mother died, the longing and the not knowing. He didn't want her to spend years debating the role she'd played, questioning and blaming mingling to self doubt. He didn't want her to imagine for a minute that her cruelty had caused the final break. He needed her to know that she couldn't have helped him, that it was the right thing to have let him go because they would never have had the future he'd once dreamed of and it wasn't her fault. He was incapable of loving anyone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

At first the Palace manager was unwilling to cooperate. The staff wasn't going to search the building without a request from Bart himself and they were suspicious of unshared motivations. Eric meandered through their questions, managed to underlie the seriousness of the situation without the specifics. Blair gave suggestions, threw drugs in and trailed off. It was enough. The manager erred on the safe side, he understood the danger if he didn't help and something genuinely happened to Chuck Bass. So they sat and waited as the bell boys did their work. They waited for the phone to ring in a muted silence. They'd done their best and now it was up to others.

They circled the home phone and stared at their watches, estimating the time it would take to search a fifty floor building. When the phone rang they all jumped but not to grab the portable. They jumped because it was Blair's phone that rang instead. They exchanged a look and Blair went suddenly pale. Serena reached the phone first, even stare putting the first suspicion to words. She held the phone to her friend, Chuck flashing on the call display.

"Are you ready?" Eric covered her hand before she could open the phone.

Blair stared at the youngest without knowing how to answer. She doubted herself.

"We're all here for you," Nate swore.

"No matter what he says," Serena chimed, "Just keep your eyes on us. Don't lose your temper."

"We'll do it together," Eric suggested and let her go.

"Chuck," Blair started and shut her eyes, waited for the familiar voice to finally reach her.

"Good evening Blair," She could feel the tears well at the drawl. Eric grabbed at her chin, whispered for her to open her eyes. She did, chased the tears away before the sobs could start.

"Where are you Chuck?"

"Somewhere," Chuck's voice dropped. Serena forced her eyes on her, held her best friend's hand again.

"We all miss you," Blair offered and waited for the lash. She held her breath and waited for a repeat of what he'd offered to Nate and Serena.

"You really shouldn't," He said instead, no hint of anger to mar his darkened voice.

Blair sat up straighter at that and clutched her hand in Serena's, nails dragging on the blonde's skin. She shook her head at the others, tried to communicate the difference from expectation. "We do," Blair assured him. "We all love you."

"You shouldn't love me Blair," Chuck said and she could hear the tears. His voice stalled over the love, jumping back with her name. She could hear his breathing waver as he paused. She didn't know if that was good. She hadn't heard him cry since he was a boy, and for a moment she was mesmerized by it. Even without the visual, the sound was enough to stun her. Eric moved and she remembered the task. She waved at him to get a paper. She grabbed a pen from the table and tried her best to draw Chuck forward.

"Why not?" Blair played devil's advocate. "You love me. You told me that." She grabbed the pad that Eric fetched, wrote out _**he's crying**_ in bold writing.

"What good is it?" Chuck said. "It's just some stupid feeling in my heart that creates nothing. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means something to me."

"It shouldn't. I thought it might but it really doesn't matter because it can't fix anything."

"Chuck," Blair soothed her tone. "Sometimes it can."

"No it really can't because I can't handle love. Can you understand that? I gave it everything I had once. I will _never_ be able to do that again."

"Maybe not now but I'm not ready to give up on forever. We're inevitable Chuck. There will be a time, or a place where we will make things work."

"It's not about us Blair," Chuck admitted and Blair froze. The second note she'd started stopping under her fingertips. "I wasn't talking about us."

Blair put the pad aside, dropped the pen to the table and with a deep breath squared her shoulders as she had earlier. She prepared herself for whatever was coming. "Who were you talking about?"

"When I was eleven years old I gave my love wholeheartedly." He began and she pulled her breath in and held. "I didn't question, or hide or pretend anything. I just loved Georgina with everything I had, stupidly even, with a kind of gullible simplicity. I couldn't see anything but her and I didn't keep secrets from her. I told her everything I felt, I trusted her to help me. I confessed my love on a rooftop, dangling four stories above Twelfth Avenue and it didn't scare me." His throat closed in a moan before reopening again. Blair's own eyes were glazing over as well, force between grief and jealousy making her incapable of a response. "I just wanted to love you that same way."

Blair put a hand to her mouth, tried to breathe deeply before she lost it entirely. Eric wrapped his arm to her head, swore to her that it was going to be okay, and urged her to control herself. "You could," Blair offered up the hope.

"No Blair, I really can't. She made sure I never would again. She tried to make me strong by abusing my love. She made a game of it. She made sure I would hate being in love and she succeeded. I don't only hate it, I am incapable of it."

"I don't believe that," Blair assured him.

"That's doesn't change things. It's the truth Blair. You'd understand it if you knew what she did."

Blair closed her eyes, tears gathering in the corners along with her courage. "Then tell me."

"She never told me that she loved me," Chuck admitted, a sniffle cracking through the story. "But she acted like she did. Her excitement was so genuine, she made herself so available. She listened to me, she never judged, just transformed my tales into derisive jokes that we both laughed at. She took care of me like she loved me."

Blair squeezed her eyes harshly, tried to control herself enough to say the one thing she never imagined she would. "Than maybe she did."

"No she didn't," Chuck said it blankly. "She hated the fact that I loved her. She told me it was a weakness that had to be banished. And believe me, she worked on banishing it."

"Chuck..."

"For months I forgave her while she fucked her way through St. Jude's freshman class. She planned it just right, allowed enough time between for me to just catch my balance, kept some as denied secrets and played a few right out in front of me. She staged it just right so that I didn't know what I was doing, so that I existed in a permanent state of instability."

Eric tried again to get Blair to focus, to get her to open her eyes and met Serena's. He tried to rub her back or touch her hair. They all did. They tried to coach her through the moment. She didn't even hear then. Her thoughts were occupied with an understanding she never wished to have, and an image that was too perverse to be banished.

"And it didn't matter what she did. I forgave her everything. That's how much I loved her."

Blair kept hold of the phone even after the click of disconnect. She couldn't help it; she didn't know what else to do. Her entire body was coiled in dismay, in disgusted shock by what he'd said. She hated Georgina as much as the boy who had once loved her. She hated Chuck a bit too, for the pictures he'd given her. For a moment she reviled everything and everyone. Then the bile found the back of her throat and she threw the phone down, pushing past the gallery of interested observers in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

'_And that's why I couldn't do it again'_ Chuck whispered the last for the empty room. He hoped that she would understand. He couldn't be open; he couldn't permit the vulnerability needed to be in love. He was completely incapable of being that free, of exposing himself in that way.

He pulled the marker from his pocket, stood from the bed and held it over her name as the first wave of anger hit. He threw it down and kicked instead, a violent rush of motion that crushed the drywall beneath his foot. He kicked through Blair's name, obliterating her unearned concern. He didn't stop with her, he kicked at them all. Chuck kicked until a thick layer of sweat dampened his hair and a chain of holes marred his wall. Then his head fell against the partition, hands grabbing at the flat surface as he slipped downward.

His breath came in gasps as he reached the bottom. He just lay there, for a long time, until the last embers of evening light died behind his window. He head pressed deeply into the wall until the haze cleared, until his thoughts attained some clarity. They never did. The instant the stupor cleared it was replaced with another. He turned his head, his body and let his back push harder against the wall. His legs pushed forward and then were pulled back, hugged to his chest when the tears started again. They weren't like the others. His head dipped backward, fell forward to his knees but he couldn't make them stop. They didn't bring any relief, they simply multiplied as they fell, coiling his chest to a knot that wouldn't be exorcised. They came with racking sobs that blurred his vision and had him pulling tighter together. He wove his body closer to itself, curled to a ball, pressed his legs harder to his torso. He tried to stop the shaking by crushing it steady. It didn't work. He could barely hear for the sound of his own misery. He couldn't hear anything except for the working of his throat and the faint ring of his telephone.

He grabbed the phone from where it had fallen, dragged at it with his nails, pulled the cover and the battery below. He threw the battery to one side of the room, phone cascading to the other. The silence was startling, purifying even. It let him focus on his sobs, let him control himself enough to stand, to grab the pistol from the side table and put his final plan to action.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was on her knees before her friends could intervene. In hindsight they probably wouldn't have. They weren't permissive but there were levels of grey, times when they wouldn't deny her even the most destructive of coping mechanisms. Still they followed, Nate immediately taking the floor beside her. The evidence of her weakness scared him and humbled him. The evidence of her concern warmed his heart. She had been all these things, good and bad, and he hadn't seen any of it. So he cradled her head against his chest, let her cry and vowed silently to protect her from that day forward.

Serena took the side opposite, took her hand and squeezed the limpness away. Eric removed the confirmation of Blair's frailty, his concern divided between Blair and his brother. He never lost sight of their original goal and that bartered his friendship for panic. They were running out of options, of lifelines to pull Chuck back from the brink. That made him sit down as well, not to add another hand in comfort but to force the truth out. "I know this is hard," Eric tilted Blair's eyes to meet his. "But I need to know exactly what he said."

"Why?" Blair mumbled even though she already knew.

"If he was going to offer any clue to us, it would be to you."

"There wasn't anything. It was all set in the past, about Georgina, about being in love with her." Blair tried as hard now to hold the tears back as before but with as little success. Nate curled an arm around her side, let his fingers caress her knuckles, and tried to offer her some strength.

"Come on, think!" Eric grabbed at her chin, Nate immediately pushing his own hand through.

"That's enough," He stared the younger boy down. "We have one more call," He reminded Eric. "We'll figure it out when he calls you."

Eric took a deep breath, light eyes meeting Blair's dark ones. She understood without the words. "He's not going to call you."

Eric's eyes downed at the truth. He took a breath and reminded himself that it was by no means certain. "We don't know that..." He explained but somehow both Blair and he did. Chuck wouldn't call Eric for the same reason he'd called the rest. Eric didn't have a temper to trip or tears to charge. He could offer his brother what he wanted but Chuck needed to believe he was unlovable more than he wanted to be unconditionally loved.

"I'll tell you everything he said." Blair agreed with a tip of her head backward. She didn't wait to stand, or walk to the other room; she related the entire narrative from her knees. She didn't summarize when the bile threatened again, she didn't skip a single detail because she trusted Eric to make sense of it. In the end it wasn't Eric that did.

"He's lying," Nate interrupted the tale. "He lost his virginity on the roof of the Palace. There was no way he could have done it with Georgina on Twelfth. There weren't houses there in 2001; it was just a bunch of abandoned commercial warehouses. It's only last year they finished tearing them down and building new luxury condominiums."

The rest of the Non Judging Breakfast Club stared at Nate in shock.

"Oh my God," Serena gasped first. "I know where he is!"

Eric scrambled to his feet, Serena pushing out of the bathroom before him.

"It's a new house, with a bedroom for me." She called back as the rest stood, running to Bart's study. "I remember a condominium. It wasn't in the Bass Industry name." Serena started throwing documents the moment she reached the desk, tossed papers indiscriminately, searched through the rejected pile until she found it. "I should have known," Serena admitted as the rest met her. "It was in Bart's name. I should have..." Serena ripped the manila cover wide, watched a single metal key clang to the desk. She waited for one of the others to pick it up. She'd had her chance to stop Chuck and she could still remember her failure.

They all shared a look, a question that none voiced but Blair answered. She pushed past the rest, grabbed the key and offered it to Eric. "You should go. For the same reason that he will never call you."

"I won't lose my temper."

"Or your emotions," She pressed the key into his hand.

Eric didn't need to be asked twice. Nate read the address and Eric had it memorized the rest could add their confirmation to his selection. He was out the door before Blair's tears had dried, before Serena could hug him or Nate could wish him luck.

He left three very scared friends behind, watching the path the youngest had taken with a cross between dread and optimism.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck opened the barrel, and shook all the bullets free. They fell to the table with a clatter of noise, rolling left and right. Chuck picked only one up, stared at the cold metal cylinder and grinned. It would have taken only one to change the course of his history. If Georgina had enough foresight to load the gun, if she'd taken his life that night then everything would have been different. All the people that he'd hurt, all the lives that he'd scarred; they'd have all been saved.

What right did he have to live? He had been given everything, every advantage from wealth to education. He'd been born in the blessed class and he'd used it only to his own malevolent ends. He was filled up with sin, with iniquity and vice. He had earned nothing in his own right, had made nothing of himself. He'd simply taken from those who loved him: stolen, cheated, schemed and lied until they fractured to pieces.

What reason did he have to live? He was shattered himself, broken into so many pieces that he'd never gather himself together. It had been lunacy to think that if he stopped drinking, if he spoke about his feelings, if he really tried that he would fix himself. He couldn't be fixed. He'd never be whole. He was broken beyond repair.

So he loaded the bullet and spun, slamming the barrel shut with a deep breath. Chuck Bass would put his future in fate's hands. He'd let God chose whether he lived or died.

Despite the justification, despite how necessary it was, Chuck still felt his heart skip as the metal met his temple. His breathing turned shallow as his skin warmed the end of his father's pistol. It was fitting. He could add coward to the rest of the labels dragging him to hell. He forced his breathing to deepen, shut his eyes to focus on the sensation. He counted as his lungs filled, tried to keep his hands from shaking as he pulled the hammer back and heard it click into place. He counted backward, comforted by the simplicity of numbers and their continuous patterns forward and back. By the time he reached five he achieved what he sought, that illusive calm that bordered on drunkenness, on light headed withdrawal. The rushing in his ears had turned to silence, the beating of his heart to stillness. He was ready now. His eyes relaxed, no longer pressed closed but balanced in darkness. His hands no longer shook but dangled easily over the trigger.

Then he heard the noise, the banging of the front door and he considered skipping three, two and one. He didn't. He kept his rhythm steady, would not open his eyes even as the footsteps scampered closer. He didn't intend to look until his lips lingered over one.

"Chuck," The voice interrupted his calm and Chuck didn't need to look. He recognized it. He could see his blonde younger brother without opening his eyes.

His smile curled one lip slightly higher than the other. He wasn't fazed by Eric's presence. He had known. If anyone could find Chuck Bass then it would be Eric Van der Woodsen. "Can you come back in five minutes?" He spoke in response. "I'm a bit busy at present."

"Give me the gun Chuck."

Chuck opened his eyes at that. He laid his legs on the coffee table and watched his younger brother. "No."

"Come on. We both know you don't want to do this."

"Actually you're wrong. I do want to do this," Chuck admitted it so calmly that it shook the younger boy.

"I don't want you to."

"We're at a quandary then."

"If you won't do it for you," Eric held his hand out. "Then do it for me."

"For you?" Chuck's smirk spread but the gun stayed pressed to his temple.

"Do it because I can't imagine a world without you in it. I need your friendship."

Chuck laughed at the attempt, it was almost touching. Eric had probably practiced it on the way over. It was humbling too and just the slightest bit hopeful. That was the problem. That's why he'd never called Eric. The boy had the power to undo everything. "Just tell me this," Chuck suggested as a compromise. "What have I ever done to deserve that friendship?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Well, I don't think I can even comment on this. I'm exhausted from writing it._

_Bradshaw-esque – Well the next call was to Blair and I guess it was cruel. Okay, Lewis will get her Bass on before the end. Happy? ;)_

_Princetongirl – thanks _

_LuvthatMotherChucker – yeah! Another reviewer. Don't worry I won't leave Chuck crazy forever. There is someone coming next chapter who will help kick him on the path to sanity (though you might not like the methods she employs)._

_Hannah – Hmm, should I save Chuck? A part of me wants to, another thinks it would be wickedly cruel to not. What % did Chuck give for the first shot? Wasn't it 16.67%_

_Doxeh – I'm glad you like my angst. Yeah, I'm having my own issues with the show at the moment. I hate to say this but they've kind of killed Chuck and Blair for me. They did it by making Chuck all fascinated with that girl and then suddenly flipping back to Blair. I doubt whether he genuinely loves her. We'll see if they do a better job tonight. _

_OC Journey – Those walls are going to get covered quickly, but not before a few people get a chance to see. Who will it be? You'll have to wait and see._

_PeytonSwayerScott15 – I kind of like Chuck's evil side too. I like his tortured side too though._

_Annablake – Nate & Serena have been public since S told B. You were entirely right on your assessment of Chuck's mental state btw. You usually get my ideas 100% and have pretty good predictions of what will happen. He didn't really want to kill himself until he took the phone apart. You also got my red herring. What Eric was trying to show was that he was in control of himself and that Chuck could trust him not to fly off the handle. That's why Eric didn't call. It just didn't work because like Eric said, Chuck wanted to do it more than not._

_PureSimplicity-XO – I think this whole situation will bring N & B much closer again. _

_SilkenBone922 – Thanks :)_

_Sassygirl – Another reviewer :)_

_Chucklover – Alas it was Blair, but in the end, finding Chuck was a full group effort. We'll see if saving him will be as well._

_SkySamuelle – Yeah, Bart is a total schmuck! Poor guy. He really needs to get some help himself. Like Parenting 101._

_Midnightsky – That's exactly why he started the calling. In the original flashback Georgina asked him if anyone would miss him first. He was hung up on that and trying to reconcile the fact that he'd be hurting his friends. After all, he knows exactly what it was like to lose someone he loved._

_Up Next – Eric passes his most difficult test. Someone from book 2 (YCFYF) makes a reappearance (it's ain't Georgie). She might have what it takes to pull Chuck from his depressive haze but you probably won't approve of her methods. The facts behind Bart and Lily's pending divorce become publicly known and Chuck is given a chance to repeat history._


	29. Chapter Eleven Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Eleven – Part One**

_March 29, 2009_

_What is family? The textbook defines it so narrowly. It is a relationship of mother to daughter or to son, of father to his biological offspring. Is that truly family? Does a family not require love, or protection? Is there no union in their thoughts, no desire to nurture and develop? Are we truly only people who reside at the same address, who share the colour of eyes or hair? Sometimes I look at our own families and feel just that. We, each of us, are a product of our upbringing. Yet when I consider Nate, Serena or Eric, myself, or most readily Chuck, I can't help but wonder whether our mothers or our fathers are family at all. If they don't show the concern, if they have brought more problems than solutions then is that family?_

_Sometimes I look at our friendships and I see truer kinship. I see more genuine affection, more security and shelter within our group. I knew it when my mother died. I understood why I could so easily recover. Not only because I had my father, but because I had the concern of those people most important to me. It is my friends with whom I have mutual history, crisscrossing goals and truer protection. Where do the bonds of one end and the other begin? _

_Of course there's something to be said for genuine family, for an understanding that has its root in shared DNA._

_Blair Waldorf_

There were few tests that Eric Van der Woodsen couldn't master. He hadn't made it to the top of his class by freezing or letting his nerves get the better of him but he'd never had a test like this; where the wrong answer didn't mean a failing grade but the end of something far more important. He could feel his throat close as Chuck's smirk spread, unlying an arrogance assurance that he could better the youngest of the family. Eric battled through his thoughts, searched for the explanation that would be enough. Nothing seemed adequate and he was running out of time. So he did what he did best. He bullshitted his way through, answered one question with another. "What did I do to deserve you standing atop your greatest fear just to save me from a broken heart?"

Chuck considered the idea. It was true. He had got that right. It lifted his thoughts for a moment, only to drag them back further down. "What is _one_ thing against everything else I've done?"

"You've never hurt me," Eric pointed out.

"Do you even know what I've done? To your own family!"

"Tell me if you need to," Eric allowed him. "I'll tell you everything you've done to help. We'll construct some elaborate balance and tip it side to side."

"You'd lose," Chuck promised.

"This isn't the Middle Ages Chuck," Eric pushed right back. "Our lives aren't dictated by some grand scale weighing every action, good or bad; ready to grant eternal life or damn us to hell. That's not the meaning of _our_ lives. By that sort of standard we'd all be sinners."

"I'd be a sinner by any standard."

"Maybe that's true today," Eric agreed. "But it might not be tomorrow."

Chuck let the idea wash over him, the simplicity of it mixed with the honesty and panic his brother showed. Chuck could have pushed him away too, he had enough evidence to offer but he couldn't. How could he trade injury for what Eric had always offered him? His brother had never raised a hand or a voice; he had never hurt him in any way. That's why, of everyone, only Eric had the power the stop him. Of everyone in his life, Chuck trusted only his brother. That's why Chuck inched the pistol downward and reset the hammer to unready. Eric was immediately to his feet, ready to rush forward but a warning look stopped him. "Then what is the meaning of life?" Chuck asked almost flippantly. Whatever it was, he had spent the last eighteen years running in the opposite direction.

"I'll tell you when I figure it out," Eric promised and Chuck let the pistol fall right to his lap. Eric held his hand out to receive it. "Can I have the gun now?"

Chuck could clearly see the boy's remaining fear but rather than pushing his hand forward, it was almost amusing. There was, after all, only one bullet in the chamber. Chuck took a glance down and then pulled the pistol back up. This time he aimed it across the room, far from either of them. He gave an abrupt chuckle as Eric stepped far back.

"What are you doing?"

"There was only one bullet," Chuck explained with an amused grin. "Do you know the chance of being shot with one bullet is only 16.67% on the first pull?" He pulled the trigger casually to demonstrate. The cavalier attitude dropped when the shot rang, bullet splitting the space and ending with a crack. It lodged in the opposite wall, gunpowder filling the air with smoke and scent. It cut through something else as well, the indistinctness of Chuck's mind, the hazy thoughts and unclear decisions.

Suddenly his thoughts were frighteningly clear and his hands shook in response. Eric grabbed at the gun as it dangled between his fingers and Chuck didn't fight it. His eyes were fixated on a single point: a very small hole in the wall that was very nearly a hole in him. All the depressive bravado died with the realization of what he had almost done. It was replaced by a shocked panic that drained his blood inch by inch. His thoughts returned to a haze for an entirely different reason. Eric put a hand on his shoulder and Chuck remembered to breath, pressing his head down on his kneecaps until the worst of the alarm passed. He kept his forehead pressed after, as the fervour and obsession that had plagued his mind for days was stripped clear, replaced with muted sense of loathing. He kept his head down when the full realization of what he had done played through. Eric didn't say a thing; he just kept his hand to his brother's shoulder and waited. He waited while Chuck breathed and realized. He had pulled his world to pieces with the intent of leaving. It took only one bullet to prove he didn't truly want that either. So where did that leave him?

"I didn't really want to die," Chuck whispered into his knees even though he knew the truth had been somewhere more to the middle. If it'd been someone else they'd likely not have understood but Eric had lived it firsthand.

"I didn't either," Eric agreed and Chuck lifted his eyes. They darted first to the side but Eric waited patiently until they were back.

"I don't know what to do now." Chuck admitted in a small voice.

"Why don't you start with a shower and a change of clothes?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair stood as Chuck entered, saw what the rest did: untucked shirt and rumpled pant, hair hanging in matted clumps, eyes hidden from view. She saw something else as well, the man she loved with a force that surprised even her. No matter the journey he'd lead them on or perhaps because of it she loved him. All the games they'd played the last few months, the push and pull that defined them, the competing wrongs, they evaporated to nothing under her genuine concern. That could be caused by nothing but love. She adored every flaw and every damaged inch that ought to have chased her away. That's when she knew. Blair Waldorf would travel to hell, would do battle with his demons herself, just to have him.

She ran across the room, was in his arms before he could acknowledge anyone. She could feel his shoulder's tense under her fingertips. She didn't pull away but burrowed closer instead. She pressed her chin to his collarbone; let his chin rest atop her head. She waited for him to say her name or relax against her. He did neither.

"Please don't touch me," He said instead. The voice was calm and the delivery neutral. She opened her eyes, stared at the base of his neck and watched his Adam's apple. It was steady, neither rising nor falling. She waited further to see if he'd ask again, if he'd touch her arms or force the point. He didn't. He just stood, back tense and arms hanging limply at his sides.

"Please." The voice came again and it was so resigned that she resigned herself. Blair stepped back and tried to catch his eyes. His face stayed down, eyes cast to the carpet. She put her own hand upward, tried to touch his chin and force his eyes upward. Only then did he flinch, draw back enough so that she cupped only air.

Chuck turned slowly, met his brother's eyes for a brief instant before dipping his head down again. "I'm going to take that shower," His voice was as flat as the movements that followed them. He moved through the living space to his bedroom, offering neither a glance nor a word for anyone else.

They all turned to the youngest; suspicions confirmed when Eric asked Nate to linger outside the elder's door and Blair to contact Dr. Sherman.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck slipped under his covers rather then returning to the far room. It was an evasionary tactic but it did give the rest time to debate and Eric time to speak with Dr. Sherman. He took to the task immediately, locking himself in the study for nearly an hour and giving his entire attention to it. Blair stayed with the rest, traded glasses of water for conversation. Not that anyone said much. Eric had already related his entire story. It's all the rest could think on but not something they could converse about. They managed short comments, collectively prepared for the next stage. They couldn't actually discuss either. When Eric reappeared they all jumped to attention. Once they saw Eric's face the attention turned to matching distress. Eric sat on the longest sofa, crossed his long legs and said nothing. He didn't really need to. The looked of total frustration said enough.

"What'd he say?" Blair asked.

Eric gave a curt shake of his head, ran one thumb along his eyebrow and tried to quell his growing discontent. His eyebrows narrowed under the exploration and his forehead grew an alarming number of lines.

"Eric?" Serena pressed a glass of water into his hand, remembered that he was the only one who had yet to sleep. She put a hand to her brother's leg but he was standing before it touched. He dropped the glass to the coffee table as he stepped over it, smashed shards and water running to either side.

"I need to go for a walk," Eric waved the rest off. "Please, for the love of God, don't let him out of your sight."

"Eric," Blair stopped him with a hand, pulled him back with as much force as he was intent to leave. "What did Dr. Sherman say?"

"That Chuck is eighteen and there is no way to commit him without consent." Eric admitted as he turned away."So start figuring a plan B." Eric finished as he walked out, slam of the front door announcing his exit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The full realization of his actions didn't hit Chuck until the next morning. Then the fog was replaced by more rested equilibrium and he was forced to consider everything. All his deeds, which had seemed so sensible and well contemplated in their moment, were now entirely the reverse. He'd lashed out at the only people who had ever truly cared for him. He'd given them every reason to hate him, or to pity him, or to mix the two. The very thought had him grabbing at his pillow, covering his face just in case the tears that threatened fell. He forced himself to hold them back. He'd screwed up in his life. If he was honest, his history resembled one mess up woven through another in a never ending pattern. He'd just never ruined things so definitively.

He was bitterly divided on a single point, whether he deserved to be stripped of every friendship or whether he was stupid to have pushed them away. He didn't merit that sort of love, concern or care but god how he wanted it all the same. It didn't matter. Even if they forgave him, he'd never be able to face any of them again, to put to words in the light of day what he'd taunted at night. That's why when the bed shifted underneath him he didn't turn his head or abandon his pillow. Even when he heard his brother's voice, he kept to feigned sleep. Eric wasn't convinced. He grabbed away Chuck's defence and spoke in a stronger voice. "You need to get up."

"I'm still tired."

"No you're not," Eric countered and Chuck guessed he couldn't argue the point. He'd been sleeping for nearly twelve hours already, long enough that the deep lines under his eyes had been replaced by muted grey.

"Are they still there?" Chuck asked. Serena had to be, she lived there. Was it too much to hope that the rest had left?

"They're all here," Eric explained. "Our parents included."

Chuck sat up at that, ran a hand through his hair, closed his eyes and tried to think. "Did you..." He asked.

"I haven't told them."

"Thank you."

"Yet..."

"Eric..."

"I want you to admit yourself to the Ostroff Centre," Eric said it frankly, didn't hesitate or waver.

"What!" That rubbed the rest of the sleep away. "No, no way."

"It's where you need to be."

"I know I did some stupid stuff," Chuck said. "But I'm fine now. I don't need to go there."

"_Really_?" Eric arched one eyebrow and Chuck hated his brother for not arguing. He could have drafted a debate, but when Eric looked so set it was harder to manoeuvre around him.

He probably did need it but that didn't mean he was signing in for residential treatment, trading his freedom for day trips and irregular visits. "I'll be fine."

"No Chuck, you need help."

"_You _helped me."

"You're lucky I didn't call the cops at the townhouse."

Chuck's chin went firmer at the thought, his jaw jutted and eyes went dark. For all his eighteen years he looked more sullen child than angry adult. "I don't want to go there."

"We'll talk about it after," Eric promised and tossed his brother a button up shirt. "For now, get dressed. Our parents are waiting on us."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck kept his eyes to the food, not because it tempted, far from it. He scrapped the eggs from side to side, aroma curling his abdomen more in nausea than hunger. He forced a few bites into his empty stomach, washed them with water but mostly he stared. He kept his eyes down so they didn't need to travel up. He could feel Nate to one side, Blair to the other, Serena rounding out his targeted three. He didn't have it in him to look at any of them. So he pushed eggs instead.

His father ought to have noticed, Lily as well but perhaps it was a sign of their own discomfort and pending news that they didn't. They sat together at the head of the table, eyes darting together and then apart. They hadn't rehearsed a speech and neither wanted to be the one to broach it. They'd committed to working together for the benefit of their families, but they both knew that after a month or two, when they were arguing the terms of the original prenup, the greatest intentions could go awry. Bart gave one last look to his current wife and tossed his napkin aside. He cleared his throat and remembered that he was head of the largest corporation in New York. Men like him didn't get scared by tasks such as this. "Lily and I have something we need to discuss with all of you."

Serena and Eric weren't stupid. Even Blair and Nate knew it was coming. The Basses had arrived late into the night, carting suitcases and an evident partition. It's not as if they'd been particularly close the last couple months, but they'd never taken flight of each other with such obvious relief. They'd retired to opposite ends of the expansive suite, commuting together only briefly in Bart's study, door closed and locked behind them. If all that wasn't evidence enough then the bedroom arrangements made things evident. Lily had crawled into one of the spare bedrooms after 2am, just to find Nate sill in it. Even the blonde could figure out why.

The timing just stunk! Serena was the first to wave her hands madly at them both, arch her eyes and try to communicate that fact.

"What is wrong?" Lily caught the action.

Serena didn't answer herself; she deferred to her brother and waited for him to explain. The passing of eyes, of expectations dragged Chuck from his reverie.

"There is something we all need to discuss with you," Eric started and his brother knew he was sunk. He jumped up immediately, fork tossed to his plate. Eric's hand was on him before he could flee. "Sit down," Eric barked with an arm to his brother's shoulders. He stood and forced him downward.

"Eric!" His mother chastised. "What is the matter with you?"

"I'll tell you what the matter is..."

"Please don't," Chuck's hand was on Eric's, this time pulling him down, forcing him back to his chair. The panic had rejuvenated him; pulled a colour into his cheeks and a focus for his eyes.

"They need to know," Eric explained but Chuck just pulled harder.

"Please don't do this to me. I will do _anything_ you want." Chuck begged through his whispers, intertwined a pleading into his features. "You can tell everyone else but please don't tell my father."

It took only a moment for Eric to decide. He was swayed, not because of his stepbrother's panic or the distress but because of the promise. He could trade Bart's knowledge for Chuck's willingness. His brother's cooperation would make everything easier. "You'll go to Ostroff," Eric asked in a returning whisper. Chuck gave one look at his father and agreed with a quick nod.

"Charles?" Bart eyed the two boys suspiciously. "Is there something I need to know? Is everything alright?"

"No," Chuck tried to cover his panic with a timed breath. "Everything is fine," He tried to assure but his eyes still ran to saucers. "I am fine," He finished the lie with a raspy inhalation.

Bart might have doubted him, he likely did, but a bang at the dining door put an unnatural end to that conversation. "I wouldn't go that far," The voice cut in, "But I know a couple waitresses in San Pablo that would disagree."

"I'm sorry Mr. Bass," The servant came rushing after. "I told her she needed to be announced."

The girl stared at Anthony; let her eyes drop in pity for the scared servant. "I told you, I forgot my calling cards in my reticule _and_"... she mocked as the servant shrunk ..."I forgot that in the carriage. "Besides, those rules don't apply to family," She finished with a far too familiar smirk.

"Kathy," Chuck mumbled first in shock. She waited for more, stamped her designer heel impatiently, and arched her cheekbone to gather in a bemused smile. When nothing was forthcoming she brushed out her ballerina-style skirt, adjusted the tank that kissed her collarbones and played with her chunky pearls before finally letting it all droop. "You haven't seen me in nearly six months and that's the best you can do?" Kathy asked. "It's not a wonder I don't visit more." Truth was she'd never visited at all; two families that never between shall meet. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say they always met in between; on holidays halfway around the world without their parents. Chuck came to their home but those occassions were much fewer and further between. It didn't diminish the bond between the two.

Chuck didn't need to be invited twice. He was out of his chair before she's dropped her carry bag, crossed the room and launched himself at his favorite relation. His heart raced but this time it was in happiness and he gave into it as easily as he had the other. The lightness felt unfamiliar so he grabbed her by the waist, lifted the waifish girl up in a flash of colour and neutrals. "Charlie," The screech filled the room. "You're ruining my skirt," She swore as a heel fell off.

"What are you doing here?" Chuck asked as he set her down, graced her with a genuine smile of his own.

_"I got a text."_ Kathy whispered for his ears alone '_or five'_. She tilted her head to the right, to Blair's seat and he understood. He traded his smile of joy for one of embarassment. _'Just keep smiling'_ she ordered under her breath, '_and I'll break you out of the Brady Bunch'. _

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – wow I had twice as much written but I really wasn't happy with it. So I decided to cut out half and work on it for a couple more days but I figured it'd be unfair for me to leave you guys hanging any longer. I'm still not happy with this part but I'm going to take the plunge and post it anyway.

BTW: I'm changing the name of this story (isn't that scary). GRG really suited the original outline but as it's undergone some major revisions I've grown to hate it. So I'm going to post the possible new name at the beginning of this chapter. Tell me what you think.

Wigbee – Chuck will eventually discuss the event you're refering to but he'll do it with Serena.

Princetongirl – thanks :)

Annablake – My reactions to recent storylines on the show...hmmmm...I'm thinking it's a great soap opera for teens at this point. It's too bad I'm not a teen. As of right now they've sunk the BC ship for me ala Titanic style. VC seems like a cheap repeat, NB makes me physically ill on the thought alone, and well....enough said. I'll keep holding out hope for something better. It's going to be so weird to see CG interact once she returns after I wrote so much about them :)

Bradshaw-esque – be careful what you wish for :) Yeah, I had to let my dim Nate solve it all.

Hermes09- Wow, another new reviewer! I'm glad you've enjoyed my little tales.

SilkenBones – Aww, sorry you don't like Chuck. I go back and forth between liking him and not.

Sky Samuelle – Chuck isn't going to discuss that incident with anyone but Serena.

Hannah (?) – You got Kathy right. Congrats!

OC Journey – No one's seen the walls yet. It's going to take a few days and then everything is going to blow up.

PeytonSwayerScott15 – Thanks :)

Doxeh – Yeah, I miss Eric. We should a "give Eric more screentime and meaningful storylines" petition...

Up Next – Kathy tries to rehabilitate her cousin but you might not like her methods, GG posts her juiciest tidbit this entire story and it leads to a rather significant smackdown at St. Judes.


	30. Chapter Eleven Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Eleven – Part Two**

Kathy had a way of walking that both amused her cousin and enticed every other male in a half mile radius. She flounced rather than stepped, crossed one foot over the other on instinct. She'd strutted like a model since five years old; she really couldn't have been anything else. Kathy walked the entire length of the table, layers of tulle bouncing as she moved, exposing more of the thighs to only one set of interested eyes. Her uncle stood as she approached, greeted her as the gentleman he had trained to be. "Good evening Uncle Basstard," She smiled as she said it, air kissed his cheeks despite the insult, turned away before he could even recover himself. "So this is the new Mrs. Bass," Kathy eyed Lily from top to bottom. "I guess you couldn't trade up," She finished her greetings as Lily sputtered into her fruit salad. Chuck hid his smile behind a hand, melancholy replaced by twisted enjoyment of _that_ moment.

"Kathy," Bart forced his nieces name through a false smile. "Would you like to join us for brunch?"

Kathy snorted at the suggestion. "I'll just have a glass of whatever..." The thought died as she saw what it was they were serving. "Did I miss the memo? Is gin and juice making a fashionable comeback?"

"It's just juice," Lily said without bothering to cover her scowl.

"How Midwestern," Kathy arched a brow as she studied the table. "I'd stay for the banjo playing but, well, why would I"

The rest of the table stared on in shock, everyone but Chuck. He progressed from hiding a smile to smothering an outright chuckle.

'_Oh my god! It's a she-Chuck_!' Serena whispered to her boyfriend.

'_Is it wrong that I'm strangely aroused_?' Nate whispered in return. It earned him a well aimed kick.

"So Kathy," Bart's lips still curled upward but there was no amusement left on his face. "What _are_ you doing _here_?"

"I was invited," Kathy explained. "Thought my cousin could use some amusement." She finished joining Chuck at the end of the table again. She threw her arms around his shoulders, hugged him from the side. "If you don't mind," Kathy asked for her uncle's permission with a tone that made it clear she didn't care either way.

Bart exchanged a look with Lily, mutual frustration returning them both to their cups. They really couldn't do it now. He waved Chuck away with a hand. His son didn't have to be invited twice; he was halfway to the door before Eric shot up. He went for his older brother but Kathy positioned herself between the two, stepping effectively between her cousin and anyone else. "Are you coming?" She challenged the blonde.

"I'll go," Serena offered. She had to. She was the only one Kathy had ever liked.

"We're only going downstairs," Kathy pulled at her cousin's arm. "How about I call you if we get lost?" She had him out the door before the rest could scramble or regroup.

The flight downstairs was a slow one, the walk across the wood of the bar a familiar one. "One apple martini and a glass of scotch," Kathy barked at the server before they were seated. The server looked back and forth from Chuck to his cousin, uncertainly mingled with the smallest bit of fear. They could all remember how Chuck had flown off the handle the first time they're refused him. It took a whole day to replace the glass.

"They won't serve me," Chuck waved the waitress off with a revised order. He followed the line of her apron as she moved away, traced her path to the bar and eyed the blonde who was sitting there. It seems that Serena wasn't easily swayed. Chuck put his eyes back to the table and wished it could have been one of the others.

"_They _won't serve _you_," Kathy's disbelief stopped her movements. She dangled over her seat in consideration. "Don't tell me Bart finally developed a conscience."

Chuck took his regular on the servers return trip, the regular having transformed to a glass of ginger ale. "I don't drink anymore."

"Why?" Kathy raised both eyebrows as she sat.

"Because I'm an alcoholic," He said it aloud for the first time and it stung a bit travelling out. He'd admitted it to himself years ago; everyone else assumed it and planned for it without using the expression. He'd discussed it in other words, as a problem or such. Maybe it was a sign of his exhaustion. He didn't have the energy to dance around the truth.

"Why?" Kathy snorted at the idea. "Because you like to drink? God if that was true we'd all be drunks."

He was going to correct her, explain that people who chased scotch as they dressed, who faced the day with a slow trickle of alcoholic fluids to fill every hour, people like him, they _were _alcoholics. They didn't just like to consume liquor, they let it consume them. He could have explained it but it didn't have the motivation. It was nice to pretend that he wasn't for a moment; to ignore one of the overwhelming problems with him. "I thought you were supposed to be in Milan." He asked instead.

"I had a little trouble," Kathy admitted. "Lost my contract."

"I thought they loved you."

"It was just a bit of drugs," Kathy rolled her eyes. "Who knew you were supposed to look heroin chic without the heroin."

"What!" Chuck's face went pale at the thought.

"Please! It was just a couple lines of blow." Kathy threw his concern right off. "Figures, the stuff would do wonders for Kate Moss's career but sink mine."

Chuck tried to relax after the explanation but he couldn't. So he sat back and chose his words carefully. "That shit will kill you," He threw out after a moment's pause.

Kathy took another sip of her martini and laughed through his warning. "But I'm in New York," She tossed her hair almost excitedly. "If there was ever a place to resurrect a career than it'd be in the city that never sleeps."

Chuck tried to match her enthusiasm but every time he looked to the bar his mood dropped again. When he traced the line of Serena's thigh, eyed the familiar martini his thoughts flickered backward. Kathy tried to keep up the conversation, she talked about her family, her travels, even about their shared past. She was doing an admirable job and Chuck knew it. It didn't pull him out. He'd put a comment in, would carry his side for a time, only to flounder when he looked to the right. He'd force his eyes backward, would try again but Kathy's mounting frustration proved he was failing miserably. He really wanted to be there. He really wanted to trade stories as they always did. He knew he was screwing up but he couldn't seem to keep up.

"Why don't we get out of here," Kathy said as Chuck's eyes fell to the side again, temporary smile fractured into nothing.

"Don't you know," Chuck drew his head back. "I'm under house arrest."

Kathy's eyes narrowed at the idea, her look to Serena became harder. "We can fix that."

"How?"

"Is Serena still as stupid as she was in elementary school?" Kathy's glare turned to a smirk.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You invited Kathy McFayden?" Nate had dragged Blair to Eric's room before they'd finished eating, slammed the door behind the three and sat on the youngest's bed. He pushed his bangs aside in frustration, stared at Blair in disbelief.

"I _texted_ her," Blair corrected. "I asked her to _call_ him. I didn't think she'd hop on a plane."

"And this is a bad thing?" Eric asked.

Nate yelled a _yes_ to match Blair's _no_.

"It's a good thing," Blair insisted.

Nate didn't agree. "Bitch could give Georgina a run for her money."

"She did give Georgina a run for her money!" Blair shot back immediately. "Or at least made her run for the money."

Eric got that feeling again, the one where you're the third party looking in. "Ignorant 16 year old!" Eric interrupted with his hand up.

"After Chuck's mother died, when he came back from India, Chuck didn't even acknowledge any of us." Blair explained.

"Just Georgina," Nate said.

"It was all Georgina for like six months," Blair remembered. "Then Chuck flew away to Brazil for a week and returned his regular self."

"And Georgina disappeared with a sizable pay out from Bass Industries." Nate said.

"Chuck admitted later that Georgina only took it because Kathy had blackmailed her into it." Blair finished the tale.

"So evidently we should have called Kathy _last_ year." Eric pointed out.

"We shouldn't have called her at all," Nate stared his former girlfriend down. "She's..."

"Just like Chuck." Blair interjected.

"A cracked up drunk." Nate finished.

"She is _not_ that bad," Blair argued right back. "And Chuck loves her."

"That's not the problem. She puts the party in partier." Nate finished first.

"And she loves Chuck. She would rip to pieces anyone who dared hurt him," Blair finished last.

They both stared expectantly at Eric, waiting for him to take a side in their dispute. Instead he folded his comforter between his fingers and pondered the new situation. He didn't get far before Serena called. When she told them Kathy had fled with Chuck the scales tipped definitively to Nate's side.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The flashing lights were familiar, the crowd interspersed with his class. They'd gone to 1Oak, found a booth by the front. It had worked. Chuck was talking more now, trading his own stories while Kathy weaved her own brand of snark through the conversation. It felt good to be away, to not face the friends or the facts they knew. He knew they'd find him soon enough but for now he was going to enjoy his freedom.

"Chuck Bass!" A voice yelled above the music and he felt another twelve eyes turn his way. It made him genuinely smile. He always did like being the centre of attention. When he saw who the voice belonged to, Chuck winked at Kathy.

Matthew Price ambled to the table, had a strut that could match Chucks. It often did match his; they'd played the part of friendly rivals for years. At least until junior year; Chuck had barely talked to him since. Chuck had nearly punched the brunette in his own home but Matt had deserved it. He'd been the one to give Eric cocaine. It'd been in Matthew's house that Chuck had started his spiralling lies. You didn't smile and make up after things like that. Except Matthew was smiling and looking at it, you'd never have guessed they'd been at odds for months. Matthew put both hands on Chuck's shoulders, leaned his entire body across the booth to talk. Chuck knew why. Matthew's smile was a little too wide, and his focus a little too frayed. That was their world. Mix uppers with enough alcohol and you could wash away acrimony.

"I thought to myself that it can't be Chuck Bass," The boy teased. "He's _nowhere_ to be seen since turning puritanical. But now I understand," Matt's eyes dropped to Kathy, corneas tracing the line of her tank. She rolled her eyes in response, a familiar flickering passing once they returned to the brunette's face. "It's Kathy. The only girl who could provoke a resurrection."

"Matt," She allowed after a deliberate pause.

"Kathy," He let the name roll the second time; sat in the booth between them even though he wasn't invited. "What_ have _you been doing?" He asked with a curl of his lip.

"Not you."

"We could always change that."

"I don't repeat freshman mistakes," Kathy shot right back and Chuck didn't hide his smile this time.

"You've changed your number," Matt pointed out.

"Fifteen times since you," She shot back and Chuck snickered at the older boy's frustration. It felt good to laugh even if it was at someone else.

"Come on Chuck," Matt threw out in desperation. "We used to be friends. Help me out here."

"You know I'd help you score with anyone here," Chuck pointed out. "Family aside."

Matthew's hand inched up the booth's backing, hung precariously close to his model target. "I don't need the help."

"Just in Italy," Chuck pointed out.

"When in Rome," Matt started their once familiar mantra.

"Do the Romans," Chuck's snicker turned to outright laughter. He'd spent the last summer before junior year with Matthew Price, slowly working their way through the cities of the Italian Peninsula. They'd put their bravado to bet, constructed a competition to see who could bed the most foreign woman in two weeks. "If I remember," Chuck pointed out. "I won that contest."

"That was years back," Matt pointed out. "You're all out of practice now."

"It's a skill," Chuck countered. "Like riding a bike."

"Or a desperate thirty year old." Matthew laughed to match his nemesis. The older boy stared at Chuck and then lit up. "Listen I'm having a _soiree_ tomorrow. Why don't you come?"

"You have a party every other day," Chuck reminded him.

"So maybe there's another on Wednesday, _and_ Friday," Matthew admitted. "Come to them all."

"I don't think so," Chuck denied on instinct. He knew that hanging out with Matthew Price was the last sort of thing he needed. Kathy wasn't so convinced. She overturned her earlier refusal and slid her phone across the table to Matthew's eager hands.

"Kathy," Chuck whispered his refusal into her ear. She wouldn't hear it.

"Convince your cousin to give up this sober living idea," Matthew begged through his own smirk. "Our scene has taken an irrevocable nosedive since he left it." He promised as he handed the cell back. Chuck raised his glass at the suggestion, bubbles of carbonation proving it was still entirely alcohol free. He did it just to irk the older boy and Matthew's smirk floundered. "Seriously Chuck. You used to be so much fun."

That irked Chuck far more.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Any suspicions that Kathy had formed already were reinforced on their arrival home. His four friends gathered like an angry group of vultures, ready to skin her alive. Chuck hadn't stayed to defend, he'd fled immediately, closed his bedroom door to preserve his own barrier. Kathy was going to follow him but the rest intervened. They ordered her to another room instead. That was a mistake. Kathy McFayden could not abide being ordered, or boxed, or directed to. She was a lot like her cousin. It predisposed her to disapprove.

Blair and Eric took the same lead they had held over the last few days. They explained to Chuck's cousin what had happened, clarified and held nothing back but no matter how clear their explanation, they could not force Kathy into the conclusion so obvious to the rest. The moment they brought up the Ostroff Centre she shut completely down.

"Chuck is just moody," Kathy argued. "He's passionately temperamental, always has been"

"No, he's depressed," Blair swore.

"What do you know?"

"I know him better than you think."

Kathy glared at the brunette and remembered why she'd never liked her. "Even if he is depressed. I don't think throwing him in some mental ward is going to help. What he needs is fun and relaxation."

"He needs to be under observation," Eric disagreed.

"Chuck doesn't need to be in a mental facility," Kathy snapped right back.

"He tried to shoot himself," Blair wrung her hands in frustration.

"And why do you think he did?" Kathy asked Blair. She was starting to formulate her own ideas why.

"Well, because..." Blair turned to Eric. They'd debated it a bit, Eric had seen the truth in literary form, but neither wanted to start.

"I know my cousin," Kathy interrupted before one could break through. "Let me handle him." She grabbed her purse from the side table, slung it over one shoulder to mark the end of that conversation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun had barely risen when Chuck was slapped awake. It was a gentle smack but a slap nonetheless. Chuck rolled to the side and didn't even bother to open his eyes. It took three before he cracked them, eyed the clock and rolled them back. Chuck buried his head deeper into the covers again. He knew what he had promised, he was resigned to following through, but resignation didn't transform to uncomplaining compliance.

"Get up Charlie!" Kathy grabbed at his pyjamas and pulled him up.

"I don't want to."

"You don't have that choice."

"I just want to sleep," Chuck tried to lie back on the bed but his cousin dragged him up again.

"You are going to get up and you are going to do everything they ask you to."

"Kathy," Chuck whined into the morning air.

"Because if you don't they're going to drag you away and throw you in some padded cell."

"Maybe that's where I belong," Chuck mumbled with a grab at his pillow.

That sobered his cousin right up. She grabbed the pillow first and hit him over the head with it. "Did you hear yourself?"

"You don't know what I did," Chuck mumbled right back.

"Eric told me." Kathy admitted.

That surprised him. Not that Eric would inform his cousin but that his cousin could act so flippantly once she was informed. "How can you disagree if you know?"

"What I know is that I didn't fly here to sign you into some hospital for crazies. And to be honest, I wonder why you're so willing to go there."

"I..." Chuck didn't know what to say to that. He just arched one brow in confusion.

"I know you've been depressed," Kathy sat on the end of his bed. "But that's why I came, to snap you out of it." She gave him a little shove back, waited for him to fall or fight. He pushed her right back and that made her smile. "Are you with me?"

Chuck didn't need to say a thing; the slight tugging at his lips was enough.

"Let's start with talking our way out of the Ostroff Centre," Kathy conspired with a tug to match her cousin. "After all, if there's anything my cousin Charlie's good at," Her smirk spread wider. "It's getting out of things."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Another of the Van der Basses had planned an early morning rendezvous, this time by the light of the sun and through the mist of the morning dew. Lily pulled at her wool coat and shivered as she drew closer to her destination, discomfort not caused solely by the chill. She caught sight of Rufus in the distance, reclined on an iron wrought bench by one of the brickwork tunnels bridges that dotted the expansive space. She pulled her purse tighter on instinct and tried to formulate some speech that would rewrite the facts in a favourable way.

Rufus was aware of her before Lily reached him, had tossed his morning paper into the trash can the moment he heard the heels. He looked as handsome as ever, dark hair curling over equally expressive eyes, open smile bestowing brilliance on every feature. "Did you tell the kids?" Rufus asked as she drew near, arm out to receive her.

"No," Lily admitted with a deep breath and Rufus' smile slipped to a frown. "But I think they already know."

"That's not quite the same." Rufus frown deepened as his arms crossed.

"Don't worry," Lily said. "Bart and I are going to get a divorce."

"Are going to? I thought you started the paperwork in Montreal."

"We did. It's just that right now, it's a bad time."

That was enough! Rufus stood from the bench, kicked his feet beneath him as he moved. He wasn't going to listen to this anymore. He had a pretty good idea where it went. "Whatever Lily. When you decide what you want..."

"It's his son," Lily swore. "He's having a really tough time and I don't think a divorce is going to help."

"I thought he didn't even like you."

"He loves my family."

Rufus ran a hand through his hair and took three deep breaths. "What is wrong with him?"

"I can't really..."

"Of course you can't." Rufus ripped through his hair again.

"Rufus," Lily grabbed at his hand and forced him to focus. "I meant what I said when I called. Bart and I are over and as soon as things can be resolved, as soon as it is done, then I want to be with you. It's just that things need to be done the right way."

Rufus stared at his former lover, really stared deep enough to guess her motivations. They'd been playing at this for months already and he wasn't signing up for more. That being said he couldn't deny her the desire to do things right. He'd asked the same thing of her. So he did what he could. He leaned forward, brushed his lips against hers and said, "Then call me when things are done."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Ostroff Center was a rectangular building of grey and white. A few dotted oaks broke up the otherwise cement feel of the space; many more flowers added the colour it desperately need. It created a pleasant space to recline, metal benches spread around the small garden. The three gathered at the entrance weren't inclined to recline. They passed coffee cups back and forth but kept the conversation minimal. Eric, Blair and Kathy had set their opposing viewpoints the night before. There was little left to discuss. So they waited, two hoping that Chuck wouldn't reappear and one that he'd better the examiner.

It took an hour before they had their answer. Chuck strolled from the front, hair hanging into his animated eyes, and asymmetrical curl of his lips cheering only one. They all stood, Kathy had the decency to butt her cigarette on the pavement.

"What happened?" Eric asked first.

"They're making arrangements. They're going to admit me on an outpatient basis."

"Excuse me!" Eric's jaw dropped at the idea. How was that possible?

"Apparently I'm not a high priority," Chuck admitted with a turn of his head, a spreading of his smirk into the cement.

"Chuck!" Blair stepped in front of him. "You have got to think about this..."

"I did think," Chuck corrected her. "I did what you asked me to, what Eric asked me to and that is _enough_."

"Chuck," Blair cupped his chin. He winced at the touch, pushed her hand aside before it could trace his jaw in her familiar way.

"Don't touch me," Chuck repeated his demand from the other night, this time in a clear voice and an unflinching stare. He sought out his cousin's eye and that's when Blair noticed it. The other brunette was watching the entire exchange with unmasked approval.

"I say we celebrate," Kathy suggested even though the rest didn't think this a moment worth commemorating. Eric and Blair exchanged their own look, their glares providing a counterpoint to Kathy's wide smile.

"I think we should head home," Eric offered instead.

"Why don't _you_ do that,' Kathy tossed her hair and challenged the youngest.

It was easy for Chuck to pick a side. There were three people standing before him, two determined to see him institutionalized, who doubted his sanity and questioned his common sense. The other wore a grin over her perfect teeth, held her hand in offering and thought he was just right the way he was. "Sounds like a plan," He met his cousin halfway, turned to the others with two hands open and a remorseful look to his face. It passed to a shrug of his shoulders when he remembered one simple fact: He was still Chuck Bass for better or worse.

And Chuck Bass had mastered the art of running the moment he put things to shit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – I asked age back if anyone wanted to see the return of textbook Chuck. Well he's back for a chapter or two....until someone finally travels to Bart's new home._

_Princetongirl – thanks :)_

_CBEBTR trory12 – I think Chuck knows he needs help and that's why he's avoiding the rest. They can't force him into treatment though. That's a choice Chuck has to make for himself._

_Ingridmarie – Yeah, another new reviewer. Kathy is going to help Chuck eventually._

_Doxeh – I am still a CB shipper in this story. Will they end together? I can say only this...how could it be happily ever after without those two?_

_Court – another new reviewer (I'm so blessed). Blair is eventually going to have a major role to play. He has to trust her first but they're going to work on it._

_Annablake – as for the medical rules in the US. I should point out that I live in Canada so part of it is guesswork. Basically Eric could have called the cops and had him thrown in a psyche ward for a couple days observation. He chose not to do that because he thought he could convince him to go to the Ostroff Center (can you imagine the media storm if he'd picked the first). Now he's left to scramble and it's going to have him making a good (or bad) choice next chapter. Maybe I'll tell you the original plan later. We'll see._

_Midnightsky – thanks :) GG is not posting about Chuck or Blair but it's going to affect a few St. Judes and one Constance student. Can you figure it out?_

_Up Next – Eric gambles and loses. Chuck finds a new (or rediscovers an old) circle to hang out with. GG posts a kiss, and that kiss leads to one St. Judes' student slamming another against a locker. It's probably not for the reason you think thou_gh.


	31. Chapter Twelve Part One

_A/N – prep yourself for man whore Chuck_

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twelve – Part One**

_April 1, 2009_

_How is change effected? What causes it, what makes it permanent? How do we even know that we need change? _

_Most of the time life gives us subtle signs that we need to alter our course. It might be found in a caring touch, a wise word or an unpredictable situation. Sometimes we heed the clues; mostly we brush them away, classify each as insignificant until they bind together to show us the error of our ways. _

_Sometimes life isn't so subtle. Sometimes life presents us with a full coloured billboard, flashing lights predicting doom and gloom. Sometimes the conclusion is too obvious to be ignored. Then if we don't listen it's because we've chosen not to._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Nate and Serena had left the moment of truth for nearly five days, each preoccupied themselves with chasing after Chuck rather than their own answers. They didn't need to anymore, or at least it wasn't any help. Kathy had taken over for them all. She kept to her cousin's side, made sure he rose early enough to go to school, made sure he ate enough to refill his sinking cheeks, made sure he attended all mandated group and private sessions. She was his constant companion and, no matter her methods, she was doing well. The Non-Judging Breakfast Club was bitterly divided on her other methods, the ones that involved alcohol and parties to all hours. Nate had seen that one coming the moment she touched down, Blair had been the one to seek Kathy's help despite the threat but somewhere in the middle they had flip flopped. Nate accepted the brunette simply because a drunk and happy Chuck was far easier for him to imagine than the boy his best friend had become. Serena was inclined to agree, or perhaps just approve of Kathy in general. It might have been the brunette's assurance that Serena could model high fashion if she chose to, or maybe just the fact that Serena was the only one Kathy approved of.

They never saw Chuck now. He'd traded his friends for an older crowd, not in age but history. He'd once straddled between the partiers and his regular three. In junior year the three had grown to four and the rest were abandoned outright. Now the four were abandoned for the rest. At St. Judes he was flanked by Matthew Price and Marcus Anders, the first famous only for having more parties per capita then the rest of the population combined, and the later infamous for being the only boy to repeat senior year in the last forty years. Blair had nearly stumbled on the steps when she saw them, the calm she'd been trying to cultivate for days vanquished in a moment. She now hated Kathy McFayden, and Eric, who was quickly pushed out as confident and friend, didn't think better of her.

But that was all neither here nor there for the two blondes perched on Serena's bed. They were still fully dressed, neither a hair nor a lip line out of place. That alone was proof this conversation was long overdue. They'd been dragged through Chuck's games like the rest, but they had yet to deal with the consequences of his competing truths. Now, five days later, there was no further reason to delay. Looking back they wouldn't remember how the conversation had started but both would remember how it ended. Everything ceased when Nate brushed at her hair, ignored his burning cheeks and put to words what he'd suspected since the start. "Are you still in love with Dan?" He said it casually even though once the answer would have mattered. That time had passed and now Nate just wanted to get it over with.

Serena grabbed at her pillow, her own cheeks reddening to match her boyfriend's. It was the last thing they'd share at this level. It ought to have saddened her but it brought more relief. She'd been playing at it for months, living of the lust they embodied and ignoring the lack of anything else. Maybe she'd hoped something else would develop, or maybe she was just more like her mother than she'd ever admit, too afraid to be alone. "I do," She admitted it in a small voice.

Nate shook his head at the truth, their eyes met one last time before they both knew it was over. "Are you going to do anything about it?" Nate asked.

"How could I?" Serena answered. She'd been the one to push him away. She'd been the one to go to Nate instead. "It's kind of late to kiss and make up."

"I'm sorry," Nate offered without jealousy.

"I'm the one who should be sorry. You've been nothing but wonderful to me all this time. And I've..." Serena cringed. "I've been in love with someone else all along."

"Don't blame yourself. We have more in common than you think," Nate admitted with a flip of his hair and a rare sorrowful grimace. Serena let the comment drop, crawled across the bed to her rediscovered friend and put her head on his chest. It should have been awkward but things were never uncomfortable between them. They had too many years of friendship preceding that moment, and neither were inclined to fits of anger or disappointment. It was just one more thing that neither really cared about. So Nate brushed it off as he brushed her curls, stared at the blonde and suddenly was overcome with the need to tell a truth he hadn't admitted to anyone. It could have been to assuage her guilt, but more likely it was simply because Nate Archibald had never excelled at keeping secrets. Eventually they all came out. "Can I tell you something?"

"You always can."

"Just between the two of us."

Serena sat up at that, her curiosity piqued by the boy's continuing grimace. "Always."

Nate took a deep breath, gave another brush at his bangs and then revealed his secret. "I think I'm in love with Blair. I mean I _know_ I'm in love with Blair."

Serena froze at the thought, thoughtful gaze turning to outright dread. Something uncomfortable took over the base of her stomach, pushed her dinner upward and then downward again. "How?"

"I don't think I ever stopped loving her," Nate admitted. "I think I just ignored it."

"_Keep ignoring it_," Serena shot out before she could catch herself.

"I know," Nate said. "I'm going to, I mean, I'm not going to do anything. How could I? It's just that..."

"Are you sure?" Serena asked. "I mean that you love her?" It was a reasonable question. Nate flipped more than a pancake during Saturday brunch.

Nate shook his head; it was a slow, exhausted wobble that proved just how sure he was. "I mean, I suspected it for a while, but this last week, I just _knew_."

"You could be wrong."

"I was worried about Chuck," Nate explained. "But I was _most_ worried about Blair."

Serena stopped arguing at that. It was pretty clear. She lay her head back down instead, listened to the other blonde's heartbeat and realized how screwed they both were. Perhaps the punishment for their intertwining infidelities was that they dwell in unrequited love. She was about to put the thought to words when her phone beeped. She grabbed it from the side, picture contained within it instantly shattering any other thought process.

"Oh my god!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The evening was upon them, last strains of daylight disappearing through Damien's cracked kitchen window. The Brit stirred a cup of tea for his boyfriend, carried a beer for himself. Eric needed one and he wanted the other. He pushed the mug across the small kitchen counter table, cracked the other on the side and stared at his troubled confidant. He would have asked Eric about it but the younger boy didn't want to talk. He'd taken a page from Nate's book, brooding silences replacing animated conversations.

"I'm going to be on television," Damien dropped casually, waited to see if Eric was listening at all. The lacklustre murmur proved he wasn't. Damien took another swig of his beer and smiled into the fireplace. "I just have to dance around naked," He managed without laughing.

"What?" Eric shook his head at that, confusion playing out over his youthful features.

"I'm going to be on television," Damien said again and this time Eric was listening enough to turn in shock.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Five weeks," Damien explained.

"Wow," Eric said almost lamely. What else could you say? "I didn't..."

"We've sold out every day since my opening," Damien reminded his boyfriend.

"I knew that, I just..."

"I'm a hit," Damien sat back, smug smile overtaking his face, settling it just the way it used to look.

"I knew you would be," Eric decided, linking his long fingers with the other boy's short ones. For a moment he just stared and forgot about everything else. Then his phone beeped and brought everything else right back.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa had her feet dangling on the Humphrey loft coffee table, shoes abandoned along with her socks. Her toes were squeezed between spacers; Jenny was painting her nails in shades of pink and red, the clashing combination a perfect counterpoint to the brunette's personality. "They're going to start filming my movie next week," Vanessa admitted to Dan.

"You must be so excited," Dan said.

"Yeah," Vanessa agreed but it was far too placid to match her news.

"That's convincing," Dan teased. "You got a full scholarship to the New York Film Academy. You ought to be bouncing off the walls."

"I know," Vanessa tried to smile larger but it fell flat. Her pinkie went to her lips instead, the chewing an automatic habit.

"Don't do that," Jenny stood and gave the older girl's hand a slap. "I just finished those."

"Sorry," Vanessa mumbled with an apologetic look at her now chipped nail.

"So when is the big unveiling?" Dan asked.

"They're showing it the last week of April," Vanessa explained.

"And are you going to tell me what it's about before then?" Dan teased further.

The same pinkie returned to Vanessa's mouth. Jenny would have slapped again but her attention was diverted with a beep. She grabbed her cell in time with the other two, Humphrey faces turning paler than the third.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had made his first return to Matt Price's house, to the parties that were half St. Judes boys and half willing women. The music was so loud that Chuck could barely think. It was alright, thinking was overrated anyway.

The nameless blonde whispered into his ear, strawberry scented hair tickling his neck with every soft murmur. He smiled as her finges explored, started at his earlobe and travelled to the base of collar. He could appreciate her; Chuck Bass always appreciated a beautiful woman. She may have had on too much make up, her voice may have been a little too loud but her eyes were wide and blue and almost transparent beside his. He leaned in close to study their shape, then redirected to her neck, pressed his lips to the hollow behind her jaw, let his tongue inch above to her earlobe. Her giggle ended in a euphoric moan and Chuck felt the familiar licks of pleasure in his own chest. It was comforting to lose himself to a familiar emotion, to be lead away by lust rather than love, hate, anger or sadness. So he dipped again, traced his lips lower, kissed his way along her hairline, felt her eyes close rather than saw it. He led his fingertips on exploration, traced the low v of her neckline, felt her chest press upward, encouraging his daring. Chuck had a hierarchy of touches, an encyclopaedia of words and suggestions to push past any lingering doubts. Seduction was the one subject he'd excelled at, had studied like a scholar ought to. So when he pulled back, saw the desire turn the blonde's eyes to liquid silver, he knew exactly what to say next, where to place his hands and her thoughts.

Except he caught something else instead, an unnaturally large number of eyes turned their way. They were riveted and not with the usually voyeuristic interest. Even through the dance music he could hear the murmurs, see the slowly moving lips mingled with pointed looks his way. He knew they were talking about him. Chuck just wanted to know why. A feel of his pocket later and he realized it was still empty. His phone remained in two pieces on his imperfectly silver bedroom. He hadn't enough fortitude to go there, to face what he had done. He needed to wait until the contractors had made repairs. So he snapped his fingers instead, pushed the blonde aside and grabbed at Marcus' phone.

_Hello Gossip Fans,_

_Parents rarely make it to the homepage never mind the gossip pages but this is too tantalizing to pass up. Which society matron is trading Park Avenue for pork and beans? It seems a certain Mrs. B's philandering with Lonely Sr. may be causing the breakdown of the Van der Bass powerhouse. Doesn't she know better? One should never follow in their daughter's footprints!_

_You Know You Love Me._

_XOXO_

The photographs flashed from the townhouse, to the courtyard of the school, did a full circle to the steps of Brooklyn. It informed every single member of St. Judes and Constance Billiard but it hung most predominately on five phones and through three intertwined families.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Those that still bore the nickname Van der Bass reassembled in their home. They added Nate and Blair to their numbers, neither making up for one significant absence. They tried Kathy's cell but without answer. It wasn't surprising. She didn't beck to their call. So they traded a bag of microwave popcorn and tried to downplay the evenings outing. It's not like Lily and Rufus' affair was foreign to them. Everyone in that room already knew and Chuck, no matter where he was, wouldn't be any more surprised.

But the rest of St. Judes and Constance Billiard were bound to be. God knows how they would react. Their circle needed some kind of plan but one couldn't plan for these eventualities. So they passed popcorn instead and promised to support each other. They just wished the weakest link was there, the one who didn't have the experiences of Serena and Eric. This was the fourth time around for them; they'd built up fortitude through the other three. Chuck didn't have their shared experiences. The nature of the end to Bart's first marriage didn't allow for comment, at least in the child's listening range. Who knew how Chuck would respond to this.

When the doorbell rang Blair went to it. She wrenched the door open even though there was a house full of servants to do just that. It gave her an occupation. Behind it was a stunningly beautiful young woman. She was African American with wide cheekbones, large almond eyes and curiously short hair that only emphasized the former two. She dangled a large carry bag between her thin legs, bumped it from one side of her paisley skirt to the other. She was very familiar but Blair didn't place the image until she spoke.

"Chuck Bass please," She spoke with articulate clarity and Blair remembered the Gossip Girl posts. The two girls that Chuck once admitted were her replacement.

Blair eyes went dangerously narrow as she realized just who this girl was. Did Chuck really have his call girls knock on the front door? "He's out," She said, happy for the first time that night that he was.

"Again?" The girl's face went immediately dark. "That's the third time in a row."

Blair crossed her arms in satisfaction. "Do you have a message?"

"Yes. You can tell Chuck that he's paying whether he shows up or not." The African slung her bag over one shoulder. "And if he wants to see me again then he'd better call and apologize." She turned to leave but Blair just couldn't let it be.

"I didn't think men usually apologized to girls like you."

"What?" the girl stopped her spin.

"That's why they pay you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe he's bored," Blair shot off. "You've been playing that whole university student angle since January," Blair said with a pointed look at the hooker's clothes.

"I _am _a university student!" The dark skinned girl shot right back. Their raised voices carried to the other room, drew Serena to the foyer. She caught the disaster as it unfolded, ran to the front just a minute to late to prevent the implosion.

"That's so sweet." Blair's eyes arched. "A whore is trying to better herself."

"Excuse me," The girl's chin snapped at that, bursting forth an attitude that could rival Blair's.

"Though I guess the career lifespan of a call girl is pretty short. It's a good idea to have backup when your looks fail." Serena pushed between them at that, just fast enough to prevent a slapping from either side.

"Listen, I don't know what your _friend_ Chuck gets up to..."

"I'm _so_ sorry Ms. Wright," Serena tried her best to placate her brother's tutor, smiled so wide that her face nearly cracked. "I'll let Chuck know you were here..." She promised, uttering further promises and apologies as she ushered the beauty out. Blair watched her as she left, smug satisfaction not dropping until Serena hissed at her. "That is _not_ a call girl."

"Yeah right. Chuck all but told me..."

"That's his tutor," Serena explained instead and Blair's smugness evaporated.

"Tutor?"

"Three times a week," Serena said. "English and History."

Blair stared at the door in mortification, briefly considered leaving to apologize. Serena grabbed her arm and pulled her back. They had more important things to worry about than some stranger's hurt feelings.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck heard his name before he felt the slap, hard smack across his foot that had him rolling to the side. When he rolled onto flesh rather than cool sheets it chased the remainder of his sleep. He opened his eyes, bright morning sun instantly blinding his still drowsy eyes. He winced into it, blinked back the headache that started the instant he sat. The girl beside him shifted, blonde hairs twisting under her slender arms. Her back was naked to his eyes but he hardly looked. Kathy was at the foot of his bed, her tired eyes matching his. "Get up," She whispered so as not to wake the other. "We're late."

""What time is it?" He asked only because '_Where are we'_ was bound to be answered when he was acclimatized to day.

"It's already 8:00am," Kathy hissed and tossed him his polo. It was rumbled and creased but it was uniform so he wore it anyway. He blinked into the matching yellow room and remembered. They hadn't gone home last night, or any other time yesterday. He hadn't intended on staying away but, then again, he rarely did. When the news had broken, when the blonde on his arm had suggested moving their party, everything had blended so seamlessly to end here.

"School starts..."

"In twenty minutes."

"There's no way we'll make it."

"Marcus is in the other room. He has the keys to his dad's car." Kathy explained and held out a bottle of water.

"Okay," Chuck kicked his legs from the bed; pressed the bottle to his head as the room spun to the right. "Just give me a minute." He asked with closed eyes. He still had his head in his hands when the girl beside him stirred. He managed only three steps by the time she sat up.

"Chuck?" the blonde pulled the sheet to her form, covered herself even though her modesty had all evaporated the night before. Those eyes shone quizzically as they stared but were too light to ever fully verse their question. He almost got caught up in them again but then he realized that he still didn't know her name. It was better that way. It made it so much easier to grab his jacket and walk out without a word.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric stayed by the front door to St. Judes even after the warning bell sounded. He was usually the first one in class, his supplies organized and bag stowed before the final bell. It was so easily cast aside when need overtook need. Now he kept his eyes to the street, gambled against Kathy without the girl's knowledge. He waited for Chuck to be late, to miss a meeting, to fail an obligation. He was waiting for the justification to attack. He eyed his watch and counted the seconds of the last minute away. He was in the final three when he saw the car. It was a black town car registered to Dr. Matthias Ander's but driven by his eldest son Marcus. It weaved in and out of the traffic in front until it came to a sudden stop beside the crosswalk. Eric watched the teens step from it one by one. Chuck was the last, shirt rumpled through and eyes creased in black. He stumbled the moment he stood, competing pushes from Matt and Marcus keeping him upright. The morning sun beat mercilessly down and his brother's sleep deprived eyes blinked hard into it.

Eric could feel the anger surge as Chuck's cousin kissed him on the cheek, offered some words and a wave. Eric had had enough of this game. He could tolerate being pushed back twice as hard as he pressed forward but he couldn't abide all his brother's successes washed away in less than a week. Some people fell off the wagon; Chuck looked like he'd thrown himself off a five hundred seat commuter train. So Eric did the only thing he could. He grabbed his phone and played his trump card.

"I'd like to speak to Bart Bass," Eric barked at his stepfather's personal assistant.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The school day melded into counselling, skipped dinner and ended in the same place as the night before. Except this time they weren't at a house party, they weren't at a house at all but some club Chuck didn't care for on a street he barely remembered. He felt the pretentious music, almost but not quite jazz drifting through rich wood seats and lingering on the conceited set. It was more his cousin's style. Though it could be his too if admitting to it didn't feel wrong. It wasn't important. The only important part was that Chuck and Kathy melded to the furniture, that no matter his dad's annual earnings, this crowd hardly recognized him.

Chuck had endured jeers and taunts for the entire school day. They all had to bite it: Serena, Eric, Jenny and Dan but he had the most to chew. He'd always been the first to dish and now it was his turn to take it ten times harder. Chuck didn't even know how he made it through the day. Perhaps it was a single fact, the realization that if he'd skipped they would call his dad and heaven forbid they discuss the reasons why. Needless to say he was avoiding the regular high school set, hiding away somewhere up river, surrounding himself with patrons who median age was 28. It was okay. The satin cushions were more comfortable and the music was just desolate enough to match his mood. He reclined into both, laid his foot indolently against the full length of the booth. It was half in arrogance and half from genuine fatigue. He'd admit to the first but live to deny the second.

"There's a Prada party," Kathy checked her eyes in the compact, brushed at an imaginary line of black beneath one. "It's strictly invite only, but," She snapped the compact closed and smiled at her cousin. "I bet the Bass name could get us anywhere." Chuck waved off the suggestion and his cousin's smile went a bit darker. She covered it with another sip of her drink, and another method. "It'd be lots of fun, free drinks and scantily clad models."

Chuck didn't respond at all. He kept his eyes to the softer lighting, gauged possible targets for a night of fun and tried to rediscover the boy who lived for the chase. He couldn't find him, had probably lost him forever. He could put forth all the outward appearances; revisit all the old habits but something inside had fundamentally shifted.

"Chuck," His cousin grabbed at his hand and pulled his attention back. There was disappointment, a lingering doubt that proved she could see it too. "Why don't we just leave New York?"

"I thought you had meetings next week."

Kathy gave a shrug of her shoulders. "We could go anywhere in the world. I'll pack a bag and we'll go."

It was tempting; his usual escape was, just that, escape. It just didn't fit. "I'm okay," Chuck swore and truthfully he was. He'd relaxed the week, traded most of his developing neurosis for liberation. It was just that day. "It was just a _really_ bad day." Chuck admitted through another sip of scotch. Chuck first caught sight of her through the glass, using one manicured hand to push through the crowd. They didn't part for her; they had no idea who she was. Chuck looked away, downed the rest of the scotch but he could still feel her moving forward. He wasn't sure if it made the day better or worse.

That's the image that greeted Blair on entrance. Chuck lounged in a far booth, foot stretched to one side and on the other, his cousin Kathy whispering incessantly into his so readily turned ear. The white lights cut into her sunken cheeks, painting her skin as dark as the devil she was slowly turning out to be. Chuck didn't turn as Blair approached but she didn't let it bother her. She was building slow armour to his blatant indifference.

Blair stomped her designer heel when reached the table but neither Chuck nor Kathy moved. Chuck ran a finger over his glass, paused an inordinately long time before turning his eyes. The instant his brown eyes met hers she stamped her foot again to keep from shrinking back. Chuck leaned further back into the club seating, let his eyes travel slowly from her Channel heels, along the length of her thighs before dipping with her neckline and up. Despite the familiarity, it didn't comfort. It was the way he looked, eyes not even blinking under the turning lights, finger grazing lazily over the rim of his scotch. "Excuse me," Chuck whispered loud enough for not only Kathy to hear. Chuck threw his foot to the ground, pushed his back to sitting and then standing. He took his glass as he stood, walked perhaps towards the bar but more probably anywhere away from her. Kathy sat straighter as her partner in crime departed, crossed her ankles in a demure gesture that didn't match her smile. It was an infuriating smile, like Chuck's but dipped in lipstick.

"How can you do this?" Blair hissed when the agitation grew to be too much.

"Do what?" Kathy raised an eyebrow to match her smirk.

"You're encouraging an alcoholic to drink!"

"Who's the alcoholic?"

"Chuck!"

"Why?" Kathy ran a detached finger along her own glass. "Because Bart Bass says it's so? And the rest of you are eager to agree?"

"This had nothing to do with Bart!"

"Really?" Kathy arched her brow high and if it was anyone else, Blair might have honestly retracted. It always had something to do with Bass Sr. "What about you? What does it have to do with you?"

"I care about Chuck!"

"That's kind of the problem."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I kept asking myself. How could my outgoing, confident cousin become this withdrawn boy? What changed in his life over the last year? Then I remembered. He got involved with little Miss. Perfect Blair Waldorf."

"That doesn't have..."

"We'll see," Kathy cut her off before she could finish the defence.

Blair bit back her retort as Chuck reappeared, three glasses in hand. Blair glared at the alcoholic beverages until she counted their number. Then she was left partially unnerved, fully unnerved when she saw one was filled with a familiar red.

"Blair," Chuck offered her the cranberry ice martini. She was about to refuse on principal. She would have but he looked so sincere in the offering. His eyes stared straight at her, and his fingers didn't even flinch as they crossed hers. The drink was in her hand before she even noticed it. It didn't come to her lips until she noticed something else, the cousin she-devil looked suitably put out. Still, Blair waited for him to sit back down, to cover his frank expression with an insult but he stayed standing. Kathy shifted in discomfort and Blair crafted another plan. She washed her mouth with a sip of the tart liquid and then put it to the table. She put her hand up and took Chuck's scotch. His instinct was to pull back but she was so smooth in the movement, so even that he hesitated long enough for her to succeed.

"Dance with me," She pressed her hand into his and pulled without giving him a chance to answer. She waited for him to wrench free but he didn't. The small victory emboldened her, encouraged her to keep pulling even when the music shifted to a slower tempo and Amy Winehouse's voice carried in highs and lows. She stepped first to the floor, kept their fingers linked together lest he run away again. He didn't but she couldn't stop from feeling the tension. They'd danced together a hundred times, shifted their weight and touched but she hadn't expected it this time. She couldn't relax; she kept waiting for him to flee proximity, to tell her to stop touching him again. He didn't. He spun her to him, showed a natural grace that couldn't be erased.

She was the one to flounder, to trip through the moment but he was the one to catch her, to right her before she fell. He didn't say a thing, just stared in that familiar way. He put his fingers to her hair, pushed her bangs from where they had fallen, continued the touch from her crown to the base of her jaw and forward. Her chest constricted so tight it almost pained, and then fell apart in what could have been pleasure. She studied his eyes; she could because he didn't turn away. That was the first victory. The other was the expression; the unconcealed sadness that she knew was truth. She'd watched his competing emotions, the masks he'd constructed. She understood them because she was guilty of those same practices. But this face, those eyes were entirely truthful and that was all she had ever wanted to see. She wanted to perceive the boy who had done those things; see the anguish that had driven him. So she smiled while he frowned, laid her head on his chest as he tightened his hold on her waist. They played the part of saddened but enamoured lovers and she wished it could last.

"Why can't you just hate me?" He asked too soon and broke the moment to pieces. She froze at his tone, the mingling frustration that proved a part of him wished she would. It was exactly why she couldn't.

She knew what she should have said, whether he expected it or not was debateable. She opened her mouth to form the sentence, to confess her feelings again and she realized she just couldn't do it. No matter how sad he was in that moment, she knew he could transform as easily to anger and lash out. She was afraid that the tenuous hold on her heart would break if he threw those words back again. So she told the deeper truth, the reason for all of this. "Because you hate yourself enough for the both of us."

It was too much and she knew it the instant his face changed. There were things you didn't dare put to words. She would have backtracked but her eyes were too full of the transformation: the change from broken boy, the layers that shifted to anger. It was the way his chin went from slacked to firm, his eyes from full to narrowed slits. It was the way his throat shook, the last evidence that it was more pain than fury that pulled his arm free, had his feet moving from the floor at four times the speed they'd entered it.

"Prada," She could hear Chuck call over the dance music. She watched him rip his jacket from the hook, pull his cousin from her seat, barely giving her a moment to flatten her skirt before dragging her through the small club and out the front door.

She could feel the tears pool in her eyes but she didn't cry. She shook her head instead, blinked them back until her strength took over. She straightened her posture, and ignored the velvety piano that followed the truth too closely.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart's office dangled thirty-seven stories above the busiest street in New York. You could catch a glimpse of Central Park from the floor to ceiling windows but Eric doubted his stepfather stopped to look. The walls were stacked through with bookcases, rich mahogany wood that stretched one third of the space, every shelf filled to capacity. The stepson wondered when Bart had the time to read them. Eric wasn't in a sympathetic mood.

The youngest was predisposed to be annoyance. He'd asked to speak with his stepfathre at 8:30am that morning, had stated in the clearest terms that it was urgent and could not be delayed. The gold and silver clock in Bart's office showed eight minutes after 10pm. Somehow that summed up the entire problem. Or maybe it was the fact that even at ten minutes after 10pm Bart still had his head half into paperwork. Month end or not, the guy really needed to grab at the nearest clue.

"I need to speak with you," Eric said clearly.

"I just need one more moment," Bart insisted as he scanned the last column of numbers.

Eric wasn't about to give that to him. "Your son tried to kill himself," He spat out almost disdainfully.

That stopped Bart, had him pull off his reading glasses and look up. The look should have been shocked but it came out more disgusted. "That isn't funny," Bart barked at the younger boy. Eric supposed it wouldn't be, all things considered, but that wasn't the point.

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit? Chuck said he didn't overdose on purpose."

"I'm not talking about that." Eric crossed his arms. "Your son tried to shoot himself."

Bart's reading glasses went to the table at that. The disgust slowly changed to scepticism. "I find that hard to believe."

Eric took the pistol from his pocket, tossed it onto Bart's desk without a second thought. It thumped as it fell, battered the pristine wood and allowed for reasonable doubt. "I can show you the bullet hole," Eric offered in case it still wasn't enough.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The penthouse observatory was decorated in black and gold, layers of silk and tulle mingling darkness with light. Just as Kathy had predicted the Bass name was as golden as the artfully constructed runway. They'd snuck into the Prada party, Chuck instantly falling into the nearest booth. The only thing that remained of Kathy was her phone, lights flashing across it on the table. She was off in a corner, chatting to an agent, a photographer or any of the many people needed to resurrect a career. Chuck was reclined into the satin cushions, nameless model inching her hands further up his thigh. She had a name once. Chuck had asked, probably more than one time, and then lost it his usual swirl of scotch and cigarette smoke. It was Shanti, or Shandi, or maybe Cinderella. She hadn't had a last name and for some reason that bothered Chuck. Girls were supposed to have last names, aristocratic surnames that rolled off one's tongue between the sheets or out of them. Then that thought died with another sip, disappointment dulled into disquiet.

Chuck remembered being much more orderly about all this once upon a time. He'd crafted lists in his phone, added rankings or comments or pictures. Now it was just a flash of sound, a mingling of flesh and whispers. The thing was most others didn't notice the difference. That's why he chose to surround himself with those boys, the ones who still saw Chuck Bass, congratulated him for his victories and teased him for his loses. He took another sip of scotch and contemplated. Perhaps they were the crazy ones and he was sane. It was the only explanation because Chuck _knew_ everything was wrong.

He watched _Basstard_ flash across his cousin's telephone screen. The smirk was temporary, the little button on the right instinctual. He lay back after the disconnect, closed his eyes to the rotating sights and let the brunette slip her fingertips closer to another one night stand.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan Humphrey's emotions were undefined as Serena stepped into the coffee shop. He had been the one to call, had even travelled over the river to meet her. He tried to convince himself it was solely to discuss the situation they were in. He hadn't been waiting in the wings; this had nothing do with split between her and Nate. It had everything to do with the screwed up love triangle that engulfed their three families, and the amorous photographs of his father and her mother. And really, when _that_ was the topic it could never be about _them_.

"Dan," Serena stared down at her first love, tossed her purse on the tabletop and sat across. He'd been pretty sure she wouldn't pick up when he called, then he figured she'd refuse to see him, and then he promised himself that she wouldn't show. So far he was batting zero for three and he wasn't at all sad about it.

"Serena," He waved at the table, at the large mug with a teetering tower of whipped cream. "I ordered you a hot chocolate." So maybe he had had a tiny bit of hope. Serena took it right away, sipped through the sweet exterior, and used it as a barrier to the speech that was coming. "I bet you're wondering why I asked you here."

"I have a pretty good idea," Serena countered.

"I just wanted to apologize. I mean, not for me, but for my father and everything that's...'

"It's neither your fault nor your job to apologize for him."

"I know that, I just..."

"Not your fault Dan," Serena repeated a little more firmly. She knew him too well. She knew he'd take responsibility for things that were too far out of his hands.

Serena hid behind her chocolate again, Dan taking intermittent sips of his coffee. He shouldn't be having more caffeine. His body was running fast enough as it was, as much for the blonde across from him as the situation they were in. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Serena said it casually.

"The rest of your family?"

"Don't worry about us," Serena shook her head. "Eric and I are used to this stuff. My mom always does it." She rolled her eyes as she finished the thought. "She just had enough common sense to not screw within our school before now."

"Is Bart going to divorce her?"

"I think they were already talking about it. We haven't told them what happened at school yet."

"But you knew?"

"Yeah, we did," Serena admitted and Dan breathed just a bit easier.

"How about Chuck?" Dan asked, the slightest hint of guilt playing through his eyes. Maybe Dan had no reason to feel culpable, but it was the sign of good character that he still did. His father was the third party. Rufus may not have instigated the mess, but he should have had the common sense to sidestep it. That wasn't the source of Dan's guilt. The senior Humphrey was as much at fault as his lover, but that inequity didn't play out at school. Rufus was almost revered and through him his son. He was still taunted but chants of "better hope Bass doesn't own your building," were little compared to the sheer viciousness of the attacks on Chuck. They pretentious rich ought to have hated the Humphreys. They were after all, the usurpers, the ones that didn't belong. Something else had happened instead. They envied the man who had put one over on Bart Bass. They collectively enjoyed any Bass failure.

Serena and Eric didn't fare much better than Chuck. They'd simply learnt to accept their mother's failings, and the taunts that came with the end of each marriage (or the beginning of each affair). They'd had a decade of practice but there was a more important attribute. Both Eric and Serena were fundamentally nice. They didn't laugh at others failings, didn't scheme or destroy and because of that, people didn't set out to hurt them either. Chuck was an asshole who had spent his entire school career undermining others, conspiring and plotting and slowly ruining his enemies. Who would pass up the chance for a little payback? So it was solely Chuck who had to contend with everything from suggestions that his father couldn't satisfy, to taped pictures on desks and lockers, to a vulgar chant that _really _was too elementary to grace the mouths of senior high school students. It didn't even matter how many people he threatened, or how many Matt or Marcus actually hit, he couldn't make it stop. And really, what could Chuck Bass do? Go to the principal's office and complain?

Dan really shouldn't have cared about Chuck. The boy was all bad in Humphrey eyes and probably deserved everything he got. That was the mantra Dan had tried but somehow it didn't satisfy. He couldn't forget Vanessa's insistence that Chuck was more sensitive than it first appeared and, horror of horror, Dan could see it himself when he looked closely. It was almost iconic. Dan had caught his first shade of grey and it involved _Chuck Bass_.

Serena ran a finger along her glass. How could she respond to that? It wasn't Dan's business but she'd never been a good liar so she found a middle ground. "We'll see."

They could have ended the conversation at that. Dan had said his piece, gathered his reassurances but they stayed sitting instead, ordered another set of drinks and a scone to split. They found other topics to discuss in part because they'd genuinely missed the other's company and in part because neither wanted to return home.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

There was something decidedly unclassy about having sex in a bathroom stall, even if that bathroom was located in one of the most expensive buildings in New York, and even if it held mood lighting and miles of marble and ceramic tile. Chuck tried to play off as kinky. The girl in his arms had giggled at the suggestion, stared up at him with hooded eyes and a liberal mixing of intoxicants. Chuck tried to whisper her name but he still couldn't remember it so he started the '_Shan'_ and let his voice trail. It worked, she pressed her exposed chest into his and he ground his hips into the fabric of her skirt.

He ought to have taken her home except he didn't have a home. Well, that wasn't true. Perhaps the problem was that he did have one. His father had taken his suite away the moment he'd handed him the keys to the townhouse. Chuck had always had 1812 or a hotel suite of some shape or form. He hadn't lived in a real house since he was eleven years old. He could have taken Shan...whatever her name was...to it but he didn't want to. He could have used one of the other bedrooms; there were ten that stretched from one floor to the other. He just didn't want to. Chuck had been a different boy when he had a home. It might have been seven years in the past but he could still remember it.

He didn't want those two boys to cross.

He chased the thoughts away as the pressure built, the one that coiled through his stomach, inched up and down his thighs and spun his head in a pleasurable circle. It purged his mind of those contemplations if not the other; the hanging reminder that he was entirely transparent to the one who mattered most. So he mixed one with the other, anxiety binding to gratification, trying to seek the neutrality between. Then he kissed her cheek, tasted the salt and felt the anxiety push to dominance. He kissed again, felt the saline flavour and contemplated his next step. She wasn't the kind of girl he'd expect to freak out. She had her hands everywhere; her suggestions were more daring than his. He should have realized it was an act, no one could be that unrestrained.

He didn't know if he wanted to stop, but when she spoke he did anyway. "Are you alright?" The drunken question scared him straight. When he put a hand to his eyes he realized that he was the one crying. The shock had him jump back, hitting his body against the opposite wall, jarring everything frighteningly clear. "Can I help you?" The girl asked. She put a hand out and Chuck pushed further back.

"Get out," Chuck yelled. The voice must have been hard enough, or the presentation terrifying enough because the girl fled without a backward glance.

He didn't feel better alone. His hands shook beyond his control, passing tremors of unease where pleasure one swelled. His throat was closed and no matter how hard he tried to breath there was nothing. He could have fallen to the floor but he exchanged his panic for temper, kicked the stall door with all his strength. He didn't even wince when it cracked, broke away from the top hinge. He didn't even look. He'd picked a point, a place where the rich blue paint was cracked to fixate on. He rubbed at his eyes until they pained, thankful that the tears had stopped with his discovery of them.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Chuck feet didn't slow when he eventually returned to the other room. He sought only one object, eyes searching out his cousin's purse. It was slung over the far booth and Chuck went to it. He grabbed her phone without asking, marched straight from the apartment and down the nearest stairs. He just kept walking as he dialled, thankful that his inebriated mind could recall the numbers. He waited to hit sent, kept walking until his hands stopped shaking and his throat cleared. Then he stopped in the middle of the cement block stairs, only six floors from the bottom.

"Dr. Sherman," Chuck spoke into the voicemail, the force of his tears long past, leaving behind a chafed tone to his throat, a rougher intonation than he was used to. "It's Chuck Bass. Can you give me a call back? I have some questions about that place in Boston."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So I tried really hard to get to the fight scene but I was already at 8000 words and still a few scenes off :( So I decided to post this but for sure the fisticuffs will be next. Who do you think it's going to involve? Obviously the kiss was Rufus – Lily._

_Has anyone caught the subtle repeats of history? Vanessa for Blair, Kathy for Georgina...I could point out lots more. Chuck keeps repeating himself but it's next post that you're going to see a straight repeat of history and believe me, if Chuck repeats himself there, then you're going to wish he had shot himself._

_Shall I take a vote? How many for NB? Raise your hands :P Btw if you want to know which AW song BC was dancing to, I had "love is a losing game" on the mind._

_BrittyKay – yippee..another new reader. Thanks_

_Oc-journey – If it makes you feel better you're not really supposed to like Kathy._

_KelaBelle – yeah, another reader. Thanks_

_Midnightsky – Thank you :)_

_Annablake – I'd admit that I wasn't feeling too sentimental for textbook Chuck either. That's why I mostly glossed over it._

_Hiddenletter – Chuck did try to cover it up. Wow, I have to warn you that YCFYF is more angsty than TH...hopefully you'll still enjoy it._

_Acbassxo – I recommend the little x on the right if you really don't like it._

_Ingridmarie – He didn't tell Blair to not touch him this time. I would say that family couselling is downright essential for Bart & Chuck._

_Princetongirl – thanks_

_Dysenchanted2 – So it wasn't Blair or Serena. The kiss was Rufus and Lily and it's the one you read about last chapter._

_Up Next – Did you notice that Chuck was six floors from the bottom? That was foreshadowing ;) He's got six more experiences to go through before he hits it. The thing is they're all about to happen in ONE DAY._

_Wish him luck :)_


	32. Chapter Twelve Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twelve – Part Two**

Chuck flinched against the morning, put a hand out, and felt it fall from the edge. His back ached and when he opened his eyes he realized he was dangling half off a sofa. It would be a delightful twist on history but Nate was nowhere to be seen. The house was similar, mostly light fabrics and greenery but it was a full two floors smaller. That was proof that Marcus Anders wasn't son of a dynasty but rather the offspring of a simple, run of the mill, nationally recognized surgeon. Chuck liked him better for it. In fact, the two were a lot alike. If their friendship hadn't kicked off with competing self-destructiveness then Marcus might have come to rival Nate. As it was Chuck had reasons to be wary. It's why he was sleeping downstairs rather than in one of the three guest bedrooms upstairs. That's why it was 5am and Chuck was already fully awake. He kicked his feet to the coffee table and contemplated, grabbed Kathy's phone and flipped through the thirty missed calls. It was time to go home. Chuck tossed the cashmere throw to one side as he decided, penned a quick note and slipped his shoes back on. The ride home was a short one, surprisingly calm by New York standards. Chuck almost fell asleep in the taxi, eyes dipping and then jarring with the few turns. Perhaps he'd play at being sick. It was Friday; everyone knew nothing important happened on Fridays.

He waved at the reception desk, doorman jumping to attention too quickly for that hour. He didn't realize why until he scanned the card to his suite, pushed the door open and realized his father was standing right behind it. Chuck looked at his watch; assumed Bart was leaving earlier than usual. He tried to step past the older man but Bart didn't shift as history foretold. He grabbed him around the arm instead, not roughly but with enough force that Chuck was pressed at his father's will. Chuck pulled back but his father didn't let go. He complained but Bart just directed him through to the other room. Chuck could have fought him but as the office grew closer he decided not to. He didn't have the energy. Instead, pulled free and walked the last few steps ahead of his father. He was really not in the mood for a Bart Bass talk but he was even less in the mood for the argument that would follow any refusal. So he grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, took his regular seat and pressed it under his head.

"Eric told me what you did," Bart started the discussion with his usual frankness.

Chuck's head shot back up at that, the pillow dropped to the carpeting as his jaw locked hard. He could have done a lot of things but he chose to listen. He couldn't trust himself to speak. His father took a long time to say anything else. Chuck knew the reasons why.

"He told me that you..." Bart's eyes flickered away and Chuck watched his father take the pained breath... "tried to...kill yourself," Bart finished with a forced swallow.

The speech that followed should have warmed his heart; it ought to have sounded strange to hear such affection and concern from the stoic man. He could have been touched as his father faltered through the emotive words. Chuck wasn't. Chuck ground his jaw as the older man spoke. He got angrier as his father got more upset. He couldn't be affected because Chuck had heard it all once before. He'd led his father to the same animated concern, even beyond it to tears. He couldn't watch the same again and not feel the sting. He didn't even want to listen this time. It was no longer a game but somehow listening to the truth only reinforced the former lie. It made him angrier. He didn't feel comfort, just the stinging pain of violation. Eric had promised that he wouldn't tell. Maybe his younger brother didn't know the importance behind that choice but he should have fulfilled it all the same. Chuck had trusted him to do that. Now Chuck only trusted himself, his capacity to scheme and plot his way through.

"I understand that I have not been..."

"I lied," Chuck swore before his father could finish. He didn't want to see the man cry again.

"You lied?" Bart's heart warming speech underwent an immediate detour. "What does that mean?" His tone turned over the suggestion; open caring transforming to guarded distrust.

"I made it all up." Chuck had to force his eyes open as he said it, had to control his instinct to wince at the lie. "It was all for show."

"Eric told me you tried to shoot yourself."

"I shot a wall," Chuck admitted. "I never intended to shoot myself," He carried the lie forward. It grew momentum as he spoke, mind travelling ahead of his lips, forming a back story, a forestory as only Chuck could. His father was sceptical at first, guarded in his responses, waiting for Chuck to falter in the retelling. Bart wasn't stupid. He had seen his son's mood, but he also knew firsthand how well Chuck could feign something other than the truth. That's why as Chuck spun, Bart slowly got pulled to the opposite side.

"Why?" Bart's eyes narrowed. His expression was still undecided but there was something in those eyes, proof that his story was convincing. It ought not to have been but they'd been down this path before. Chuck had played the part of suicidal son to Georgina's pupeteering. He'd admitted the truth once the anger had passed, when his instability had evened and he realized how wrong the actions were. That's why he was so angry to find the school paperwork the previous fall. It wasn't the content, it was the context. He didn't want to see how successful he'd been.

Chuck licked his lips, heat building behind his eyes and closing his throat. "I don't know."

"Chuck," Bart bowed his head down and Chuck knew he was winning. "I can understand why you did it to me. I know how angry you were, but to Eric? That boy has been nothing but good for you. How could you?"

"I just needed to know that he cared." The finish overcame Chuck's struggle to stay in control. He grimaced as the bile rose up. It was just like the first time except the situation was a reverse; lies for truth and truth for lies. It didn't matter. Chuck would make sure Bart never knew that. Somewhere in Chuck's screwed up values being hated for a lie was better than being pitied and probably institutionalized for the truth.

"Just..."Bart shook his head, disgust not even veiled by the end. "Get out of my sight," Bart shunned as he said it, exhaustion and concern traded for revulsion.

Chuck stood straighter, crossed his jacket with practiced precision. He folded, and creased and if his hands shook at least his father wasn't looking to see it.

Chuck couldn't stay in the family suite after that. He didn't want to face any of them so he grabbed a quick shower, a change of clothes and then went downstairs before the hour hit seven. He didn't have 1812 to flee to anymore, so he took a booth at the Palace restaurant instead, drank a steady stream of coffee and picked at an order of Eggs Benedict. The food didn't relax him. He tried to read the business pages but that ended on the far side of the table.

He thought about his situation instead. If Blair was here she would have called it damage control, would have pulled out a spiral and started making notes. She would have had two answers to his one, though he'd smugly know that his one would be better than her two. It was how they'd always worked. But he'd shot that to hell. Now he just needed her to stay away. He had to do this on his own, so he pondered.

Chuck poked at the Hollandaise sauce and tried to formulate some answer. Nothing came. It was easier to dig the hole than crawl out of it. In fact, Chuck was pretty sure he'd never re-emerge from this. He tried to take comfort in the pattern of his relationship with his father. They were always combusting but eventually things cooled and returned to normal. It might not have been close but they always meandered back to toleration. And his father had forgiven him once for the same sin. Those points aside, Chuck just knew it wasn't going to work _this_ time. After the first it had taken Chuck and his father years to even occupy the same space in comfortable silence. He didn't have years again. He was leaving for University in less than six months. They'd finally run out of time.

And it was all Eric's fault. If the boy had just kept his word, had done what he promised to then none of this would have happened. Chuck and Bart might have glued over the more recent cracks and left with things close to stable. Chuck stabbed at his meal, hardly noticed the screech when metal met china. The heat was building behind his eyes, the anger overwhelming his other feelings. Eric's betrayal was a hard feeling to reconcile.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric walked into the restaurant with an anger to match his brother's. It wasn't surprising. He'd had an infuriating discussion with his stepfather to start the day, enlightening in parts but mostly exasperating. His trump card had turned to the two of diamonds, and he was about two steps from finishing what Chuck had attempted, from wringing his brother's neck. The soft lighting didn't better his mood, or the sight of Chuck alone in the back booth. His brother was currently murdering what was left of his breakfast, carving the last of his eggs into small pieces. That murderous intent stayed when Chuck looked up, eye not lightening over his usually loved brother.

It didn't faze Eric. "What are you doing?" Eric snapped as he pushed Chuck's dish across the table.

"Having breakfast," Chuck waved his fork to demonstrate.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"What I needed to do," Chuck said, tossing his fork to the distant plate.

"How could you do that?"

"How could I?" Chuck's stare turned dangerous over the offensive. This was _not_ his fault. "How could you do that to me?"

"I didn't do a thing."

"Do you even understand what you made me do?"

"You didn't need to do anything." Eric countered with clear understanding. "You should have told the truth."

"I can't do that," Chuck yelled, face going red with the crossing emotions. He was as much terrified as furious, two sides competing so fully across the pale features that Eric didn't know what to say. He tried his best.

"Yes you can!"

"_That _is not what my father expects."

"Stop making excuses."

"He believed me didn't he," Chuck glared.

"He could have helped you too."

"You need to stay out of it."

"Chuck!"

"My and my father's relationship is _our_ business."

"So you're just going to keep lying to him?"

"In the end everything is equal."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"One time he thought it was the truth and it was a lie. One time he thought it was a lie and it was actually the truth." Chuck ran a hand through his hair and grabbed his jacket. "I just rebalanced the scales."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

There is an undeniable truth in life, that the fates will layer the failures on your worst day higher than the successes on your best. It's that law that played out in History class, starting with a twenty page essay exam and ending with the realization that Chuck didn't know any of it. He knew from the first question that he was screwed. He could barely read it never mind craft an answer. He considered weaving a story but the facts were too distant. There wasn't a thing he could do so Chuck just laid his pen perfectly straight, closed his eyes and pinched the sensitive spot between his eyes. He let the ninety minutes tick away and told himself he shouldn't care. The old Chuck Bass wouldn't have cared. That was the boy he was trying to find, the carefree one, who laughed too much and cried never at all. God he missed that boy. The boy that he had become cared about far too much. That boy wrote his answers just a little neater, filled the page when two paragraphs would have once been forced. He didn't hesitate or panic during an exam because everything in it was second nature due to proper preparation. That boy was successful and that's why, when the class ended, it took too much effort to place his unmarked paper on top of the rest. He had to fight the urge to linger, make up excuses and beg for a second try. He nearly faltered, would have if Dan Humphrey wasn't standing behind him, eyes flickering from Chuck to his blank exam. It was enough. Chuck tossed his failing grade to the pile and walked out.

The hallways swelled to capacity with the lunch crowd. A voice yelled at him across the space, obscene insult falling off more easily then it should have. Chuck took the flask from his pocket; he'd take his lunch in liquid form. He drank in full view of his peers; didn't care enough to keep up appearances. The only way he was surviving the rest of this day was with a mild buzz. He wasn't surprised when the manicured hand stole it from his, pushed him until they fell together into the nearest empty classroom. Blair just wouldn't give up.

"What are you doing?" Blair asked and Chuck felt the uncomfortable swell of deja vu.

"Having lunch," Chuck put his hand out, kept his eyes to the side. He had such difficulty looking at her. He'd managed to banish the shame with the rest but Blair wasn't so easily dismissed. It was a strange play on his will. He wanted to stare at her for hours but he couldn't look at her without remembering what he'd said.

"I don't think so."

"It didn't used to bother you," Chuck pointed out.

Blair didn't know how to respond to that. She might have never approved but, Chuck was right, it hadn't affected her until Chuck admitted that it bothered him. She decided to sidestep the topic entirely. "Eric told me what happened."

"He would, wouldn't he," Chuck jaw clenched.

"We're worried about you," Blair cut through the flowery speeches to speak truthfully. "I am honestly _terrified_ for you."

"You shouldn't be."

"How could I not..."

"It's not your place." Chuck finally met her eyes as he explained. "Why can't you understand that?"

"I don't care what happened between us."

"But _I do_." Chuck matched her truthfulness. "I do not want to hurt you _anymore_."

"Then get help. Eric is right. You belong in the Ostroff Centre. You need full time counselling..."

"Stop," Chuck insisted. "Stop telling me what to do and how to do it."

"Chuck!" Blair's voice was sharp but Chuck ignored it.

"Stop trying to play the part of girlfriend. Stop trying to fix me to your specifications. Just leave me alone."

"I'm not going to give up..."

"You need to. I have _got_ to figure things out for myself," Chuck begged. "Because, _honestly_, you're just making things worse." Chuck admitted with another look to the side. He didn't turn back. He's said everything he could, and he hadn't strung the words with an angry look or a biting insult. He had just told the truth. Every time she got involved, every time she confronted him it always ended the same: her hurt and him guilty. Why couldn't she see that?

Blair could feel the sting of rejection but it was different from the others. The rebuff was more complete, but it was also honest and Blair couldn't begrudge the one when it was accompanied by the other. So she handed the bottle back and let him do as he had asked. She let him shape his own future and decided to stop taking ownership of his failures.

The funny thing was once Blair left Chuck never did finish the rest of his flask. He took a couple sips and then threw it out the nearest window.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Three more classes and thirty thousand more taunts and Chuck was worn through. He opened his locker and threw the books inside, notebook bending beneath the text. He reached for the next and then stopped. He hesitated over the collection because he couldn't remember what that was. Where did he go for last block? His eyes widened as he stared, the answer dangling at the edge of his memories. It was odd. He had, after all, marched in sequence for nearly seven months. He reasoned it away as a symptom of his overtiredness. The instant he acknowledged it, the fatigue swelled. His head felt heavy and he put it against the open door of his locker. He let the metal cool his thoughts while the rest swirled. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, eyes closed and ears only half hearing the swell of noise. It came in waves, clamour that silenced and grew in response to the throb of his head rather than genuine fact. He wasn't certain how long he lay standing up, until the voice broke his concentration and forced him to realize what exactly he was doing.

"Are you alright?" A voice intoned and Chuck realized how foolish he must have looked.

He inched his head back just enough to glare at the worried observer. When he saw who the witness was, that glare took on a harder edge. "That's not really your business now is it?"

"Come on! You're obviously upset." The boy shifted awkwardly. This was not a life moment he could have ever predicted. "At least I understand why."

Was Dan Humphrey actually trying to commiserate with him? What a joke! "I don't think so."

"I know it's not the same," Dan admitted. "But I _am_ sorry."

"Oh you are!" Chuck mocked as he kicked his locker shut. "Forgive me if that doesn't mean shit."

"Chuck," Dan tried again. "It's a bad situation all around."

That fed the anger that started with pity. That Dan had the gall to suggest they had a shared experience. Chuck's father, perhaps ironically, was the only innocent party in this entire mess. Dan's priggish moralizing should have settled that one truth. "Except for your dad. He'll be moving up in the world."

"That is _not_ what this is about."

"You're actually defending him," Chuck could feel the ire raise. Perhaps it was a good thing he happened upon Vanessa rather than this boy. "So much for the school's moral compass."

"I didn't say that either..."

"Then again, like father, like son..." Chuck gave the other boy a little push as he said it, felt the slightest joy at forcing one Humphrey backward.

"Do you really want to go there?" Dan stood straight with his back against Chuck's locker. The little compassion he had felt long since dissolved out with his agitation.

"Liars, cheats...hung up on the same girl their whole lives." Chuck taunted, hand propelling the younger boy into the metal. "Just two pathetic men lusting after their betters."

Dan pushed back twice as hard. "God, I can't believe I was trying to help you."

"You think I'd want _your _help?" Chuck sneered at the suggestion.

"Of course you don't," Dan threw right back. "Like father, like son..." Chuck waited for the insult with crossed arms, anger having spread from his stomach to every other part of his body. It twisted around his collarbone and fisted his closed hands. "Untrusting and callous, unable to genuinely care for anyone but themselves." Dan shook his head in disgust. "It's not a wonder your mother offed herself."

The truth hit like a slap, quick and merciless. Chuck could feel his anger teeter to dangerous and he tried to force himself to turn away. He had managed to spin halfway before his mind changed. Then, to the shock of the small gathering party he spun and hit Dan for all he was worth, squeezed his fist and connected straight with the younger boy's nose. It cracked on impact, blood spewing down the front of Dan's shirt and running across Chuck's still closed hand. It was bright red and the colour shocked Chuck through. He watched it run while everything else stood still, the collected students stunned to silence. Chuck couldn't hear anything but his own heartbeat, still running on the force of his earlier adrenalin. Chuck stared left and right without turning his head, waited for someone to take the initiative, to break through the uneasy nothing.

Someone pushed past him, flash of blonde hair and call of Dan's name setting the rest to motion. They talked both to Humphrey and him but Chuck still stood. He stood until a hand grabbed at his shirt, forced him backward through the building horde. "Let's get out of here," Marcus ordered and Chuck let him pull. He wiped his fist as he turned away, erasing the blood from his hand, replacing it with a line of red across his chest.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was the first one to push through the throng. She'd heard the raised voices before they'd escalated to punches. She recognized both and could predict the end before either of the boys. She was in the building before the punch, initial concern for Chuck passing to Dan at the blood. "Put your head back," Serena insisted as she drew close. She pinched the base of Dan's nose herself, used a Prada heel to kick through the crowd to the nearest bathroom. She could have been nauseated at the sight but Serena had always been the one to bandage her brother's scraped knees. Aside from the sickening smell of iron, Serena was comfortable in such emergencies. She ran her hand along Dan's arm, grabbed at his hand and brought it to his face. She showed him where to squeeze, waited until he pressed hard enough and then went for a towel. The school didn't use paper towels. That would be too pedestrian for the likes of them. They had an enormous basket of hand towels and Serena grabbed the first two. She ran the water until it turned piping hot, soaked both towels through and then added them to her former boyfriend's face. She wiped away the worst of the red without comment, turned his face back to its regular state. The clothes couldn't be repaired so easily. They were stained through.

"Are you okay?" Serena asked as the bleeding stopped.

"I'll be fine," Dan said as he took the cloth into his own hand. It left Serena without a purpose beyond pushing on her heels.

"Is it broken?" Serena asked.

"I don't think so," Dan ran a finger along his nose, winced but not because it was in two pieces. Serena wanted to check herself but every time she put a hand up it lingered and fell back down. The silence turned awkward until Dan winced in pain again. Then she checked the bridge of his nose herself, let her manicured nails touch his skin with exaggerated softness. It still stung. "Who knew Chuck Bass had a good right cross?" Dan teased away the remaining pain. And really, who did know? Chuck waved rather than aimed, had been dismissed as a pansy in fourth grade. Maybe they had to upgrade him now.

"Perhaps it took the right motivation." Serena commented. She _had_ heard the end of the conversation.

Dan probably wouldn't have responded anyway, but the opening of the bathroom door put an end to their private discussion. Mr. Fraser stood at the door, his usual blend of detached formality somehow unfitting for this kind of situation. "Dan," The teacher inclined his head and then stared at Serena. "You had better return to your side of the school," Mr. Fraser insisted and, with one last look at her bloodied friend, Serena left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stared at his fist while the older boy drove. He rubbed at the knuckles, turned his yellow uniform polo orange but he could still see the blood. It kept forming and it took Chuck nearly ten minutes to realize why. He'd cut his own hand in punching the Brooklynite. "I'd get Pricilla to look at that," Marcus said with a quick look to the right. Pricilla was his housekeeper, or once you knew the Anders were divorced, the replacement mother. She was better than the original, she knew how to cook, how to clean and how to avoid Botox. Marcus' real mother was somewhere in Europe. Chuck had sat back and contemplated that one evening. How would Serena and Eric have fared if, instead of Lily, they'd gone to live with their father. Would Serena have turned less narcissistic? Eric less despaired? He supposed not. Chuck rubbed his hand again, caught the droplets of blood before they could run. "I can't believe you finally hit that sanctimonious ass," Marcus smiled behind the wheel. "You should have seen the look on his face when he noticed the blood. I thought he was going to pass out." Chuck shouldn't have smiled but he did anyway. He'd noticed it too, the paling of Dan's cheeks that had little to do with loss of bodily fluid. He couldn't help but feel some improper pride. The smug satisfaction that he'd managed to better a Humphrey and provide, at least one small measure of revenge.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Yeah! I got you to the punch this time. I also ended up giving away the one secret I remember people wanting to know from YCFYF (What twisted game Chuck played with his dad). This chapter has one more part to it but I figure they're going to be about 4000 and then 6000 so you'd appreciate getting it in two parts. I promise to have the last part finished before the end of Easter Monday._

_So was anyone keeping count? Remember the six steps? We just went through four (and notice they weren't all completely bad though Chuck has yet to make the 'right' choice)...He's got two more chances to do the right thing :) ...and for the record punching Dan is __never__ the right choice :)_

_Sky Samuelle – to be honest I've never really liked Nate that much because of his flighty and often contradictory personality. But I try to contain that dislike to constant shots at his stupidity. That being said, Nate does care more about Chuck in this story than in cannon, and I do have moments when I genuinely enjoy the character of Nate._

_Doxeh – I think Bart can be a good father to Chuck and his moment of reckoning is coming. Bart needs a lot of help but I'm going to give it to him._

_Candycorn – There was another CB moment here. Kathy's time is drawing to a close :)_

_Roswell Dream Girl – There's a lot more actually (this is a very long story like YCFYF). If it makes you feel better Chuck is done lashing out at Blair. The rest of this story (baring a couple moments) is all about Chuck making things up to Blair. There's not going to be some slapped on happy ending, they're both going to have to work things out bit by bit and it doesn't necessarily mean that they're going to be 'together' through all of it._

_Annablake – If it makes you feel better, I totally get giddy when I see your name on the review. I'm sure I get as much pleasure out of reading your reviews as you do my chapters. I have a plan for Nate's feelings but I'm holding it close to the heart. Does it mean Nate is going to be with Blair...you'll have to see :)_

_Princetongirl – thanks :)_

_PeytonSwayerScott – thanks..I'm a total CB girl myself but I'm not against alternate pairings on the road either._

_Puresimplicity – Yeah, Chuck's starting to balance out a bit even though he seems like he's losing it at the same time. There was a lot more control in his responses to both Eric and Blair in this chapter._

_(?) – Blair was trying to protect herself because she kind of knew it wouldn't help in the long run. I also feel so bad for her. She's trying so hard._

_BrittyKay – I think Blair has enough of a support network to stop from falling back into her habits. You'll catch an example of that next part._

_Dysenchanted2 – Yeah, I think Blair deserves better at the moment but honestly, is Nate better?_

_Sarcasticsunbeam – I think you hit the nail on the head with NB. She is too obsessed with Chuck to really fall for anyone else. And Chuck is the same though he's trying to ignore it. Chuck is very aware that he loves Blair but he has to get over the idea that they can't work._

_Up Next – Hmm, Rufus Humphrey, Bart Bass and Lily Bass...would you like to preside over that school-parent conference? Chuck gets a chance to go back in time (and i'm talking right back to the beginning of canon GG) and Eric gets the evidence needed to finally rip the blinders off Bass Sr._


	33. Chapter Twelve Part Three

_A/N – Just prepare yourself…we're two steps from bottom._

**Grand Romantic Gestures **

**Chapter Twelve – Part Three**

Chuck walked slowly up the stairs, the winding case of oak that separated the Anders first floor from the second. His hand had been carefully examined and then wrapt in gauze. Marcus was seven steps in front, intent on replacing Chuck's shirt with another. He stopped at the bedroom door and waited through the other boy's dawdle. Chuck had every reason to linger at that door. There was nothing particular menacing about the wood; it was painted the same shade of blue as four years before. It wasn't the door but the context; the last time Chuck went in that door he didn't remember coming back out. He very nearly didn't come out at all.

It had all started with a stupid bet on a rainy Friday afternoon. Most fourteen year olds gambled twenties on who could score more free throws, Chuck and Marcus had dropped a thousand dollars on who could do more lines of cocaine in a half hour. Chuck always had led a _special_ life. He might have even won except for one fundamental flaw. Chuck was already drunk when they started, Marcus hadn't touched a drop. That's why Marcus ended upright and Chuck ended up receiving CPR and developing an aversion to all things white and fluffy.

"Don't worry," Marcus shoved him through the door. "I'm not offering you any drugs." He dug through the closet as Chuck stared. The space was exactly the same, same blue tinted walls and rich cream carpeting. He fixated as the black button up hit his shoulder. The problem was he remembered everything prior to passing out, not just the walls and flooring but the heightened sense of calm and power that had accompanied his final slip to black.

"What if I wanted you to?" Chuck asked.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena and Nate shared a bowl of popcorn between them, had their legs curled through each other as a movie played in the back. To an outsider they didn't look any different then the week prior; the shift back to friends changing few of their regular habits. It just fit. They'd progressed from three months of dating to closer friends then ever. They didn't split until the servant announced Blair. When they saw her clouded expression both jumped to attention.

"Are you okay?" Serena asked while Nate stared.

Blair denied it with a shake. "I just need something to do," She asked and they understood. "Can you give me something to do?"

"Movie?" Serena suggested and the blondes split further to make room for the other. She sat primly between them, feet crossed at her ankles and back not even touching the sofa. In his usual scholarly style, Nate passed the popcorn ten minutes later. Serena snatched it away with a roll of her eyes and returned it to the kitchen.

"Sorry," Nate mumbled at the brunette but she didn't respond. She just kept staring at the horror flick, not even wincing at the wielding knives. Nate searched his head for something to say but he came up blank. It's not like he usually crafted elegant speeches but he'd like to think he could do better with Blair. After all, it's not as if they were strangers. He'd dated her for two thirds of his life.

The problem was he didn't remember her hair smelling so nice in any of those ten years. He didn't recall the perfect curve of her lips, or the clarity in her brown eyes. He'd been distracted, but now, he couldn't distract himself away.

"Nate," Serena hid the reproach behind a softer tone but he still got the hint and turned his attention back to the screen.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Kathy knew her cousin was high within five seconds of arriving. He was against the home's main sofa, hands running back and forth through his hair without particular purpose. That was the first suspicion. The confirmation came when he looked over; his eyes glazed with pupils that had swelled through the existing brown. "Jesus Christ," Kathy resisted the urge to kick her cousin while he was down, literally in this case. She didn't hide the glare when Marcus returned to the room, bottle of vodka dangling from one hand.

"What?" The boy put it on the table and poured a glass. "He asked me."

"You should have said no," Kathy insisted.

"Isn't it a little hypocritical for you to care?" Marcus asked.

"I don't care," Kathy tried but it didn't ring sincere. There may have been less than a year's difference between her and Charlie but he was still her _younger_ cousin. Alcohol was alcohol but drugs were something different. "Get up Charlie," Kathy looped an arm through his and tried to push him to stand. It didn't work. Chuck was nearly twice her weight and wasn't about to be led. He fell back to the couch before she could force his feet under him.

"I prefer it here," Chuck decided as he put his feet up; let them linger to the left.

"We have other stuff to deal with," Kathy insisted.

"I'm not going home."

"Your father is meeting with the headmistress as we speak," Kathy grabbed at his face. "It's all about to hit the fan."

"Marcus has three guest bedrooms." Chuck reminded his cousin.

Kathy sat down with a hiss of frustration. "So maybe we don't go home," Kathy suggested again. "I heard Guadalajara is beautiful this time of year.

"It's overrated." Chuck nearly jumped as the phone in his pocket vibrated. He'd forgotten he still had Kathy's phone. He pulled it out and prepared to hand it to her. Then he caught the name Matt and flipped it instead, offered the greeting.

"Chuck!" Matthew's excitement read clear through the airwaves.

"Matt!" Chuck mocked in return.

"I've been trying to track you down for thirty minutes."

"And you just thought to call Kathy now?" It figured. Matt Price wasn't too fast on the uptake.

"I have something for you," Matthew skipped over the insult. "Something really special."

"Well, if it's _really_ special."

"Can you head over to my place?"

"I suppose so."

"Oh," Matt changed tone, slowed down enough to make his next words distinct. "Come alone."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The school was quiet and dark by the time the Basses arrived. It was nearly 10:00pm at night and if this meeting wasn't of essential importance, Mrs. Queller would have left five hours ago. As it was, she was more nervous than either of the Basses. She shifted regularly in her high backed chair and cast obvious glances to the door.

"Are we going to get started?" Bart asked after the pauses turned to outright delay.

"I suppose we can talk while we wait for the other parent."

"You mean there are others," Bart rolled his eyes impatiently. He ought to have been thankful the headmistress would stay this long. Lily crossed her legs and gave her husband the pointed look. It hardly calmed.

"There was an incident involving your son today."

"I kind of figured that out." Bart said and Lily put a hand to his arm.

"Your son was involved in a fist fight with another student."

"Charles?" Bart couldn't help but scoff at the thought.

"Was he hurt?" Lily was more practical.

"No one hit Charles," The headmistress clarified.

"Couldn't have been much of a fist fight then," Bart reasoned.

"_You son_ nearly broke another boy's nose."

Bart sat back in disbelief. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or improperly proud. Lily put her hand to the table and considered things a little deeper. "Do you know why it happened?"

The headmistress hesitated over the answer just long enough for her phone to beep. She looked down and then up, excused herself and went to the door. Once she opened it and the third parent joined their party Bart's amusement died abruptly. Rufus Humphrey eyed the two and took his own seat, as far from them as possible.

"_What is he doing here_?" Bart asked as he crossed his arms.

"His son Dan is the one that Chuck punched."

Bart eyed the other man and couldn't help but laugh. It all made sense now. He wasn't truly amused; he just had a head for life's twisted ironies. Neither did he laugh happily; it was more a collection of unjoined chuckles, each disappearing behind a hand and then re-emerging after the next consideration.

"Do you know why Chuck hit him?" Lily asked again but this time there was a different slant to the answer.

Ms. Queller took a deep breath and eyed all three. She'd spent the last ten years playing intermediary to competing students and their families. It couldn't prepare her for that moment. No training could. So she did the only thing a teacher or a principal could. She pulled the truth from her file, slid it across the table and let the parents sort out their own responsibilities and blame.

The photograph was enough. It was as uncomforting to those three as it must have been taped to Chuck's locker. It wasn't the photograph itself. It could have been an affectionate picture of two lovers, an intimate moment immortalized. It would have been heart warming if the subject wasn't Lily and Rufus.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric joined them the rest of the Non Judging Breakfast Club after another half hour, rounded out their diminishing numbers. He dropped to the nearby chaise, kicked his feet to the growing pile on the coffee table and settled into the silence. They'd stopped asking after Chuck, stopped discussing him outright. It was too depressing to repeat the same conclusions, even worse to darken them further.

Eric dangled a slipper on his foot as he watched the last fifteen minutes of the movie. It should have been frightening, but it somehow paled to real life. Within ten Eric was bored and both slippers were on the floor. Then the phone rang and he jumped to answer it. He hoped it wasn't their parents. He wasn't looking forward to their return from St. Judes.

"Hello," the voice on the other line was far less articulate. "Can I speak with Chuck Bass."

"He's out," Eric said almost sarcastically.

"Oh," The other man hesitated uncertainly.

"I'm Chuck's brother," Eric offered. "Maybe I could pass a message along."

"Yeah, sure," The man said. "It's Colton. I'm the contractor working on your dad's place. Can you just tell him that we haven't got to the townhouse yet? We're trying to finish up renovations on the pool at the Palace."

"Is that it?"

"Just tell him to give me a call back. I know that he wanted the bedroom fixed immediately but we've been really swamped. I just wanted to ask him if next week would be alright. Bart called us yesterday and asked us to move the completion date so we're heading in on Monday anyway. We could fix the damage to his bedroom then."

"I don't know," Eric shifted thoughtfully. "The damage was pretty bad."

"Yeah," The contractor fell for his fishing expedition. "His ex must have been pretty pissed to do that."

"She's a bit unstable," Eric pushed further.

"Yeah. If Chuck is really worried about the writing then we could get a painter there in the morning. We'll definitely have to leave the holes though."

"I'm sure it will be fine. We're not moving in there for a few weeks anyway."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I'll get Chuck to call you," Eric promised as he hung up, thoughtful expression replacing his defeated one.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The entire conference room turned to hushed silence and Mrs. Queller was forced to reconsider her decision to approach these three unchaperoned. She ought to have insisted another staff member be present, or perhaps a set of marital counsellors. Lily and Rufus's eyes met across the length of the table while Bart's turned fully dark. It's not like he didn't know, but it was another level of insult to have everyone else know too.

"Bart," Lily tried in her most placating voice. Bart just waved a hand to shut her up, pressed a hand over his pursed lips and considered throwing his chair clear across the room.

"This is obviously a difficult situation," Mrs. Queller tried.

"Oh _shut up_," Bart snapped at the headmistress.

"Bart, you need to remain calm," Lily tried to remind her husband.

Bart stared at her in disbelief. Was she kidding him? "You know what...Fuck you Lily," Bart spat, transferring to his lower class lexicon. "You couldn't stay away from him for a single month, long enough for us to sort things through and finalize the divorce."

"I'm sor..."

"Get out," Bart pointed at the door. "This really doesn't concern you anymore?"

"I think that..."

"I don't care what you think. Chuck is _my _son and _my_ family ain't your business anymore."

"Don't overreact."

"And while you're at it," Bart continued. "Why don't you take Humphrey with you? Maybe he could drive you to _our_ house and help you pack up."

"Bart!"

"You could take breaks," Bart suggested angrily. "Have sex in _our_ bed a few times."

"That is enough," Rufus finally broke in.

"Are you actually talking to me?" Bart glared right back.

"Mr. Bass," Queller pulled out her best mediator face. "You're obviously very upset. Perhaps we should put this conversation aside until we've all had a chance to calm down."

"Oh no," Bart shook his head. "We're dealing with this as soon as my whore-of-a-soon-to-be-ex-wife gets the hell out of here."

Lily didn't have to be asked again. She gathered her purse and tried to maintain what was left of her dignity as she slunk to the exit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The revellers spilled in and out of Matthew's front door as Chuck arrived, crowds of boys and girls filling every available inch of the expansive house. It was always like that. The Prices' spent most of each year abroad and Matt had learned young that servants and even sometimes neighbours were easily bribed to silence. They watched Chuck as he entered but spared him the comments. Chuck meandered through the house in search of the host, grabbed a glass of scotch from the expansive liquor cabinet and made small talk with a few people he knew. He'd nearly made the full tour when Matt found him. The boy threw himself at Chuck, crowd of four other boys in tow. "Finally!" He complained.

Chuck cleaned his smirk with a sip of scotch. "So where's my present?"

"You're going to love it," Matt promised, blue eyes bobbing along with his head.

Chuck took another sip, the contagious excitement of the younger boy infecting him as well. "So what are you waiting for?"

"It's upstairs," Matthew gave him a push towards the stairs.

This time Chuck marched right up them. This house didn't have memories like the other, just a steady progression of mischievous pleasures. Matt pushed through at the last minute, directed him towards his own bedroom. It was the largest in the house, the spacious master with ensuite bath, private balcony and floor to ceiling windows. Matthew unlocked their entrance, pushed open the door to expose the darkened space. At first Chuck thought it was the usual darkness of night, and then he realized that all the curtains were shut tight.

When Matthew hit the lights Chuck realized why. Lying in the middle of the bed was an unconscious Jenny Humphrey. The boys beside him exchanged slaps, traded laughter but Chuck was stunned to silence. "So," Matt gave him a bump. "What do you think?"

Chuck couldn't speak; he couldn't even stop staring at the pale blonde. There was no sign of life, she didn't shift or mumble. If it wasn't for the steady breathing Chuck would have thought she was dead. He wanted to ask how it had happened, what had brought her to this state. He would have asked but he was more than a little afraid of the answer. So he asked another question instead. "Has anyone touched her?" Chuck asked as he eyed the prone form.

"No," Matt slapped him on the back. "We kept her just for you."

"Okay," Chuck shook his head but didn't look away. His eyes just crawled a bit larger, his heartbeat a little slower.

"Two Humphreys in a day," Matt suggested. "And I heard she'd daddy's favourite."

Chuck had to cover his mouth before he finally turned away. He eyed the rest of the boys with guarded emotions. "Perhaps you guys could leave," He suggested. They didn't need to be asked twice. The party fled with as much jockeying as they'd entered, lewd comments filling the air before Chuck could shut the door and silence them all.

He pressed his back to the door as he spun, used his left hand to turn the key to lock. The deep breath was next, hand to the hair and measured contemplation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The group of four had no idea what they'd find when the crossed the threshold to Bart's new apartment. They had speculated on the ride over, used their own imaginations to expand on the contractors words but nothing could have prepared them for the truth. They'd searched through three bedrooms when they found the one meant for Chuck. Nothing had been touched since the week prior; the sheets remained in disarray, suit jacket kicked to one corner and phone still sat in two pieces. That wasn't the unnerving part.

Blair stepped first into the room, the rest circling around her. When Eric hit the lights and they all froze in the middle, nothing put to motion but their eyes. They didn't speak. How could they? They simply read and felt. It was singularly terrifying. Suddenly all the progress washed out to nothing. It had to. They'd misread the depth of the original problem, and everything else had to shift in response.

"Where the hell is Chuck?" Blair put their fear to words first.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck leaned back against the locked door and stared at the youngest Humphrey. She looked so tiny in the huge bed, slender arms and legs half disappearing beneath the folds of Matthew's comforter. She looked so weak. Even if she was conscious it wouldn't have taken much to overwhelm her. Lying lifeless it was a simple matter. If he wanted to, Chuck could take his revenge and no one would be the wiser.

"Stupid, stupid girl," Chuck shook his head as he sat on the bed, ran a finger along the blonde's cold arm. "Look what you've got yourself into." He chastised with a brush of her hair. He watched her chest rise and fall as he grabbed the phone from the side table. His eyes didn't shift as he dialled.

His cousin's phone rang only once before she picked up. Chuck sniffed as she greeted, temporary high being washed out by a darker emotion. "I need you to pack me a bag," Chuck told his cousin once she paused. "And met me at Matt's." Chuck waited for his cousin to repeat his instructions, clarified a few of her questions and avoided the others with a single statement. "Yeah, I'll be less than an hour. I've just got something to take care of first."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – If you made it this far then congratulate yourself. We've hit rock bottom. The only way to go is up. And this story will be a steady progression of ups from here. I'm sorry for the shortness of this post, if I'd realized how short the rest of the chapter was going to be I'd have waited and posted them both together. Oh well, the next chapter is lucky number 13._

_CBEBTR trory12 – I never said Chuck and Blair won't be together. They won't be together immediately (Chuck's not even going to be around for a bit) but they just might be together forever ;)_

_Ingridmarie – Chuck will do better than forgive Eric :)_

_BrittyKay – Chuck and Blair...hmmm, like I said, it's entirely up from this point. _

_Up Next – Let's see…Chuck failed his first five tests (honesty, empathy, trusting, fury and temptation), does that mean he won't pass his sixth (revenge)?_

_Do you really, really, really need to know……_

_Then the truth can be found in reversing the lyrics to an Amy Winehouse song._


	34. Chapter Thirteen Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Thirteen – Part One**

_April 1, 2009_

_I thought all along that Chuck needed saving. It fit the Hollywood ideal, tortured and misunderstood hero is rescued by the long suffering heroine. I felt like I had to endure the trials, accept his insults and games because that would save him. I was wrong. Chuck just needed a reason to save himself._

_After all, it doesn't matter how many other people love you if you're intent on hating yourself. It's hard to plan a future when you are fixated on the past and the recurrent failures that have lead to an unhappy present. It's hard to play the part of hero when you've long since accepted your role as the villain. _

_Chuck needed the opportunity to see himself in a different light, a chance to correct his former wrongs and set a new course. Then he could rewrite the future and finally accept that he was meant to become something better._

_Blair Waldorf_

The party swelled in that intermediary hour, turning from overfilled teen gathering to unmanageable house party. The white porch was stained to a yellow hue, lights shining from every single window. "This is a very bad idea," Dan swore as he moved closer to the Price house. They were still far back; halfway down the opposite side of the street but Dan was already nervous. He stopped outright once he heard the music and watched the revellers come and go.

"Just keep moving," Vanessa dragged him a few more steps.

"You know he just wants to finish what he started this morning." Dan pushed his feet hard into the cement, tried to stop his waifish friend from pushing him onward. "Or get a few of his friends to."

"That's not what this is about," Vanessa promised.

"How do you know?"

Vanessa pursed her lips in contemplation. Perhaps she didn't know, she couldn't know anything for sure but she was willing to play out the gamble. "I trust him."

Dan spun his head at that, jaw nearly dropping clear to the ground. "_You _trust _him._ The boy who outed your fling to Nate?"

"Okay, maybe trust is a strong word," Vanessa back pedalled. "But I just didn't get the feeling it was a set up."

"Maybe because you're not the one about to get their face punched in."

"I'll protect you," Vanessa reassured the boy with an arm through his.

"What exactly did he say?"

"He just said it was essential that I bring you here. That he didn't care what I had to do to make that happen but he'd be waiting upstairs in the last bedroom on the left."

"You do know his dad collects guns."

"He told me to call the cops if you got any slack. Does that sound like someone who's looking to shoot you?"

"Fine!" Dan took a deep breath and crossed the street; Vanessa's arm stayed wrapt tightly through his. Despite Vanessa's assurances they both slowed as they approached the front gate, the brunette's arm was exchanged for a hand. They bound their fingers together and prepared to face whatever awaited them. The group of seniors smoking outside raised their eyes at the unlikely arrivals but they didn't stop them from entering. The stench of liquor assailed them both once they'd passed the double entrance doors, music blasting from the interconnected surround system. Three floor plants were already kicked over, the fourth teetering dangerously to one side. The house had a light palate, unfortunate when red wine appeared to be the drink of choice. It ran down walls and pooled on the stark white carpets. The house was probably elegant on a good day, but it looked cheap and gaudy with intoxicated teenagers swelling into every available inch.

Dan felt his dread deepen as the partygoers stared, a murmur of sound passing quickly from one room to the other. He was tempted to turn and run but Vanessa put a hand to his back and propelled him forward. They made it halfway up the stairwell before the party's host ran out into it. Matthew's eyes were wide and unblinking. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" He yelled with as much force as he could muster. "Get out!"

Dan gave his best friend a look, waited for her to take the lead. Vanessa pulled her phone from her pocket, waved it suggestively through the air. Matt didn't need to see the screen to know that 911 was already punched. Matthew moved back at that, took the couple steps downward and grabbed at the decorative handle. The Brooklynites could see his attempt to craft some sort of response. They'd both turned away by the time it finally came. "I don't know everything that goes on at my parties."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had abandoned the bed in favour of the floor. The top button of his borrowed shirt was open, chin hanging downward into them, hair twined through his fingers and palms pressed to one eye. Chuck had dropped his pack of cigarettes to the side, pulled a half dozen and lined them in a perfect row. He had one in his mouth and another between his fingers. Chuck exhaled and watched the smoke swirl slowly into the carpet and up. There was a delightful irony in it. Matthew insisted on only one rule, no cigarettes in his parent's home. In a world without limitations it was an odd thing to care about. A stupid thing really. Chuck took an even deeper drag and blew outward.

It was strangely quiet in there. He could hear the music reverberate from the bottom floor, screaming voices crawling up through the forced air heating but it was still quiet. It was still enough that he could follow his own heartbeat; he'd listened to it slow in the last half hour, dip downward and seemingly stop altogether. Chuck pulled his sleeve back enough to check the time. It was just nearing midnight and he was crashing downward into it. He didn't look at the bed. He couldn't really. He'd been there for an hour already and his twisted amusement at life's irony had shifted to something else. He took another exhalation and tried to blow out not only the smoke but the thoughts that wouldn't leave. He couldn't sit in that situation and not consider his own past. Chuck would never have raped an unconscious girl. That wasn't the issue. The issue was the precedents that allowed Matt to think he might. Chuck ripped at his sleeve again, gave Dan and Vanessa just ten more minutes, dismissing the deadline as soon as he thought of it. He'd wait all night, would call the police himself if it came to that.

He grabbed at his gold chain and gave a good yank. It pulled into the back of his neck, medallion leaving a circular indentation to his hand. He traced the ring with his other hand, watched it disappear beneath his fingertips. Then, when the door still didn't open, and that day tripped to the next, Chuck pulled even harder. He'd left a series of linked scratches by the time someone knocked. Chuck brought his head up to stare at the door, lit another cigarette before he willed his feet beneath him. He dangled it between his fingers as he unlocked the door, swung it open to finally meet his guests. Vanessa stood closest to the door, Dan stood behind her, cowered behind her to be truthful.

"Are you alright?" Vanessa asked, ready to put a hand to the pale boy's cheek. Chuck didn't let her. He slipped back from her reach, pressed his back to the opened door and waved a hand at the bed.

"Oh my god," Dan pressed through the minute he noticed what was on it. "Jenny!" He grabbed at his sister's arm, slapped her lightly on the cheek but she was still as unconscious as an hour before. Vanessa went to the other side, pulled back the blonde's hair to cheek her breathing.

Chuck didn't stay to watch the show. His business had completed with the hand over. He'd returned Jenny as pristine and untouched as she'd been offered to him. He was ready to march out but stopped as his feet crossed the threshold. "Can you tell her," He paused. "When she wakes up...that good girls don't party with Matt Price."

"I..." Dan started but Chuck waved him right off. He was down the stairs before Dan could think to fashion a thank you. It was purposefully done. Chuck knew that when all was said and done, he didn't really deserve one.

So he stumbled down the stairs and towards something that was starting to resemble a future. He stopped only once, when he nearly fell over Marcus. The Anders boy grabbed at him. "Where have you been? Your cousin has threatened to kill me if I don't return you to her."

"I'm meeting her" Chuck promised. He took a couple steps before turning back. "Marcus! Can you do something for me?"

"Yeah."

"Dan's upstairs," Chuck admitted and the other boy grinned in amusement. "Can you go help him?"

"You want me to help Dan Humphrey?"

"Just go upstairs," Chuck insisted. "You'll understand."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"God that girl is a bitch!" Blair hissed and threw her phone on the couch. She was talking about Kathy McFayden. They'd all tried to call her but Blair had been the only one to persist another half dozen times. Eric was surfing the internet on his phone instead, combing Gossip Girl posts for something that involved his brother. There was full video of him punching Dan Humphrey but nothing worth watching after. They were all focussed on finding Chuck now; there was no more excuses or improper permissions. They all wanted to know he was safe.

"He'll be with her," Serena reasoned. "He's always with her."

"If you're going to defend her I'd _really_ reconsider," Blair snapped at her best friend. This entire situation was making her one moody and disgruntled teen. They'd have debated it further but someone else finally joined the party. It wasn't the person they sought but it was close enough.

"This better be really important," Bart barked at the group of teens. "Because it is 1:00 in the morning," He finished with a confirming look at his watch "and I just concluded the meeting from hell."

"I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't," Eric promised.

They could tell Bart was unmoved. He didn't stop to remove his knee length trench or even the oxford loafers. He wasn't playing on staying long enough to need to. Eric led his stepfather to Chuck's room, pushed the door open and just waited. Eric knew. If Bart could see that and be unnerved than either his denial was iron clad or he had never really loved his son. Still he had his doubts, a little unnerved by both possibilities. Serena, Nate and Blair followed behind, the same doubts carrying them through.

Denial is a tricky thing, it can meander around what everyone else considers obvious. It can create its own stories; fabricate a past to fit the current narrative. Denial can be a very dangerous thing but it's done for a purpose. It's intent is to avoid a subject that is too painful or uncomfortable to be addressed. Bart was an expert at avoiding the uncomfortable truths. He'd woven a full story to protect his first wife. She was erratic, flighty, overdramatic, even bored but she was never depressed. She didn't drink too much because he never saw it. He chose to focus on the positives: she loved her son, loved him, was exuberant, or passionate, or everything that a lover ought to be. It was easier to hide behind those adjectives than face the truth. He'd loved Misty since he was thirteen years old but she'd only got help at thirty-nine. That was evidence enough of his ability to contradict outright truth.

That being said, there's still a line that can be crossed. Misty eventually stepped over it; it was just a few years too late to help her. There's always a point when truth will outstrip denial, where the blinders come off and you see everything exactly as it is. And the larger those blinders, the thicker their fabric, the more it hurts when they're finally pulled free. Bart only made it three steps into the room when he felt the tear, the pulling at his heart that started with genuine love and ended in outright terror. He could only look a moment and then, for all his stoic persona, Bart was undone. He had to look away but that didn't help. It wasn't just one wall. So he walked towards the bed, kept his eyes down to the blue comforter. He kept his eyes to that which he could control, or at least that which offered him control. "Where is Charles?" Bart asked once the first rush of shock washed through.

"We don't know."

"You don't know!" Bart turned his shock to them, jaw clenching beyond common practice.

"No sir," Nate was reduced to the formal, shrank back from Bart's unreadable expression.

"That's not good enough," Bart said as if the friends were the parents and he was some blessed outsider. He chanced just the smallest glance at the scribbled wall and looked immediately away again, shoulders collapsing inward. "I need to know where my son is."

"We could try calling again..." Blair suggested.

That had Bart reaching for his own phone. The movement was sluggish and unsure, as if Blair alone had put the idea there. It was entirely out of character. He punched a few keys and waited through the ring tone. "Has Charles returned home?" Bart asked the head servant. The wince followed and the rest knew the answer had been no. "How about my niece? She's still out too. Do you know where they are?" The lined pursing of his lips proved each of the following answers were no better. Then Bart hit on something useful. "She's out in the town car?" He sat in contemplation. "I need you to report it stolen." Bart ordered, voice rising to its regular tone now that he had a course of action. "Don't question me. I need you to report it stolen. They can use the GPS to recover the car."

Eric was impressed. His stepfather had his uses.

"How long do you think..." Bart started and then broke off. It wasn't that he couldn't form the thoughts; he just didn't want the answer. So he repeated "report it," and closed the phone to his chin, resting it there for a moment.

"Mr. Bass," Blair tried a soft tone. The older man didn't respond, just shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He chanced a longer look to the right, stared long enough that his eyes absorbed the entire image and every single truth it held.

He had been so wrong. Again! His instincts were all fucked up. How couldn't he have seen this? He ought to have predicted it. His hands shook as the phone dropped back down, eyes watering as he recognized his own failures. He'd fucked everything up again. He didn't need to look at the wall to know. He could count how many of those adjectives had come from his own lips. He was so bloody stupid and it was about to cost him everything _again_.

"Mr. Bass," Blair tried again as his eyes filled.

"Get out," He said it softly the first time, waited patiently for the teenagers to comply. The first tear rolled before they did. It made the tone harsher. "Get out," He yelled loud enough that they all took to the exit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart's Lincoln town car speed down the 1-91 interstate, weaving through the early morning traffic at thirty over the posted limit. Kathy never lifted her foot from the accelerator and Chuck was too quiet to comment on it. Trees replaced towers as they left New York miles behind them. They'd been driving over an hour when Kathy's phone started to ring. She ignored it at first, kept her eyes on the highway and their approaching exit. When it rang the third time in sequence she put a hand to her purse, dug through the assorted junk to find it. Chuck kept his head on the passenger window, let the glass cool his burning face. He had no desire to talk and Kathy respected him for it. He'd said his piece and there was no changing his mind. Kathy found the ringing slip of metal and pulled it out. She gave only one glance at the number before throwing the entire thing into the back seat and finally lifting her foot upward. She slowed just enough to take the Trumbull Street exit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric held the four straws out to his friends. It was rudimentary, insulting really but it was their impromptu solution to the problem. There were three long straws and one cut, an equal chance for them to avoid being the one to comfort Bart Bass. They all agreed on the need for _someone_ to go in. They weren't _heartless_. The man had been crying for nearly a half hour. He obviously needed _someone_ to talk to. It's just that none of them wanted to be that one. So they chose the fairest method to delve out sympathy.

They could have called one of Bart's friends but who were they? It's not like they had a rolodex at hand. Besides, they had the sinking suspicion that Bart Bass didn't have friends, or at least not the kind you'd cry in front of. So they settled it democratically. Serena drew first. Not only was she successful in pulling a long straw but also in covering her relief once she had. Blair was next. She might have seen Bart cry once but that sympathy hadn't lasted into the New Year. She was more afraid she'd bypass compassion and end at antagonism. It was to Bart's benefit that she pulled a long straw. Nate was the third to pull. He hoped for the last long straw because, honestly, what would he say to Bart? When he pulled the short the other three wondered as well.

"Okay," Nate gave a shake of his head and tried to remain calm. He did a pretty good job, aside from the eyes which rounded to saucers. "I'll go."

"Maybe there's another solution," Serena suggested again.

"Like?"

"Let's call mom." She grabbed at some other straws.

"And that's a good idea because..." Blair arched one brow knowingly.

"Nate," Serena laid one palm out. "Lily," She added the other, balanced them from side to side and waited for the rest to pick a side.

"I say mom," Eric said definitively.

Nate would have been relieved but he wasn't entirely sure he shouldn't be insulted.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The night had fallen to three when they arrived in Connecticut. Kathy followed the hastily scribbled directions, found the winding hill and travelled upward. Chuck was half asleep beside her, bangs obscuring his chocolate coloured eyes. She watched him for just a second and then gave a nudge. Chuck opened his eyes just in time to catch the first glimpse of his new home. They pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and Kathy killed the motor. She didn't say anything. Chuck climbed out first and started rifling through the suitcase in the back.

"Are you sure about this?" Kathy finally stepped from the car as Chuck changed his clothes. He threw Marcus' black collared shirt into the back and replaced it with an orange and yellow button down, layered that with a navy sweater vest to match his uniform pants. He'd have changed those too, but he'd planned to leave the public displays of nudity for second week.

"I know you don't approve," Chuck answered as he grabbed his hat from the back. "But I'm sure."

"Then I'm happy for you," Kathy said as she grabbed her cousin for an impromptu hug. She kissed him on the cheek as she pulled back, pushed his bangs away and smiled. "All I ever wanted was for you to make the choice for yourself." Kathy stood straighter, wiped away the overly sentimental emotions as soon as she realized they were there. "So, are you ready?"

Chuck smirked and adjusted his fedora until it hung low to one side. "I am now."

"Then I'll see you in twenty-one days," She promised with a final squeeze.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The four friends had retired downstairs, gathered in the main living room to wait for Lily. It had taken some convincing, a few explanations but she'd agreed to come. Now, with the exception of Blair, they sat around the room's coffee table and played the waiting game. Eric kept fiddling with his phone, refreshing Gossip Girl as a way to pass the minutes. It became so automatic that he refreshed it three times after the story broke, not even realizing the importance until the third load. Then he sat another full minute, shocked silence only slowly changing to a loud "Oh my god!"

The title was enough to kill any remaining hope, the photographs of police cars and paramedics nailing the coffin fully closed. The friends gathered around the single phone, eyes closing in sequence.

_**What do C and an unconscious little J have in common?**_

"I heard they have rehab facilities in jail," Blair said as the last patter of hopefulness drifted downward.

"Blair," Eric said her name but it wasn't really in chastisement. It was more in shared compassion. They'd done what they could and it still wasn't enough.

"Who's going to tell Bart?" Nate asked. He was scared now. He'd drawn the short straw after all.

"I think it should be me," Serena offered for reasons she'd always kept close.

Blair finally sat down, kicked her heels off and let the arch of her foot relax into Bart's elegant coffee table. The entire house was beautiful, a rising masterpiece that could better any of theirs. It didn't really matter now did it? The thing is she had been so sure. She figured that when he asked for the space to think he would arrive at the right conclusion. "Can you call Dan first," She threw out to Serena. "Ask him what happened."

Serena nodded her head and punched the familiar number into her phone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun was still somewhere North of London when Chuck sat across from the intake officer. He had assumed he'd be given a bed, told to sleep off the remainder of his earlier imbibing. Apparently they were more thorough then that. It did not matter that he was technically drunk and probably still had enough drugs in his system to fell a small animal. They planned for people like him. They had a detox unit on the Southern side. So he rubbed his eyes and tried to answer the questions to the best of his abilities.

"The paperwork is pretty straight forward," The doctor started. He was a slender man with perfectly straight teeth and glasses that didn't quite fit the face. It was like he wore them to fit in, like if he distracted from his perfect bone structure everyone would know he was the doctor and not one of his affluent patients. "We'll start with the commitment agreement." The doctor passed the first document across the table and Chuck read it. "Basically you agree to remain at the centre for the next twenty-one days, to follow our rules and protocols, the most important of which, obviously, is that you do not ingest either drugs or alcohol aside from those prescribed to you."

Chuck signed after a quick scan. It was why he was here after all.

The doctor flipped his folder and took out a much longer package. "The rest of our intake process is just a chance for us to talk; to get a picture of why you've chosen to come here as well as establish a medical history."

"My medical history?" Chuck asked for clarification.

"Yours as well as your families." That made Chuck's chin tense a little stronger. "Anything that can give us a fuller appreciation of your needs can only help." Chuck shut his eyes only once, forced his face to slacken and prepared to put to words what he'd only thought before. "This is your first time in rehab?"

"Yes."

"And you are seeking treatment for?"

"I'm an alcoholic," Chuck admitted, pleased that the words didn't sting as bad the second time around. He repeated the answers he'd offered first to Dr. Sherman, the times and places and things that made him an addict.

"And do you have any other existing medical problems?" The doctor asked. "Diabetes, heart conditions?"

"No," Chuck answered automatically then realized he needed to backtrack. "I had a heart attack when I was fourteen."

"Heart defect?"

"No, I mixed alcohol with too much cocaine, but the doctor said my heart is fine."

The doctor didn't even raise an eye at that. Chuck supposed he'd heard worse. "Do you still use cocaine?"

"No," Chuck insisted then had to backtrack yet again. "I mean I've slipped up a couple times since then."

"Why don't we go through your drug history," The doctor decided with a flip of two pages. "Just tell me the drugs that you have abused, past or present."

"Like anything I've ever tried or just the stuff I do regularly?"

"Everything you've ever injected, snorted, ingested or otherwise smoked," The doctor clarified and Chuck gave a doubtful look at the sheet's small box.

"What if it was a combination, do I just leave it if I've already named both of the drugs in it?"

"_Everything_," The doctor insisted.

"Well..." Chuck sat back and tried to organize his thoughts. "I smoke a lot of weed," he started as he formulated his plan of proceeding. "And I've never really been opposed to dropping ecstasy every once in a while." He stopped at that. "Do I have to include prescription medication?"

"Were they prescribed to you?"

Chuck winced at that. He figured he'd best approach this mathematically. He'd divide his imbibing continentally by location of drug or at least his location when he'd tried them. It's not like he did that many drugs anyway, he just had a propensity to experiment. Alcohol was the main problem. That's why when the doctor had to turn the paper to the side to make more room; Chuck reasoned that his handwriting was unnaturally large.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart's eyes flickered to the door without a turn of his head, narrowed when he noticed the visitor and turned back. Lily didn't hesitate at the door, neither did she stumble when she saw the rest. Her son had been explicit in the explanation, allowing her to be the first to step into that room with foreknowledge. Bart still sat at the edge of his son's bed. The tears had passed but his face was still blotched through with red, and when he spoke the voice was deepened to a rasp. "What are you doing here?"

"The kids are worried about you."

"And they called you?" Bart shot in disgust.

"They're teenagers," Lily reminded him. "They thought it would help."

"Why don't you just leave," Bart suggested.

Lily took a breath and swallowed her pride for the second time that night. She sat on the bed beside her soon to be ex husband and watched him inch further away. His face stayed averted, and his chin clenched strong. He looked so much like his son but Lily had understood their likeness from the first. She knew that their problem wasn't one of difference but fundamental similarity.

Bart's phone rang before she could attempt a discussion. He snapped it open, fired questions from the start. "They found the car? There was a female driver," That was all predictable. "There was no one else in the car?" Bart repeated blankly. "Yes, tell them to keep Kathy locked up. I don't care. They can release her after we have a talk."

Lily was half tempted to remind him that arresting his niece wasn't likely to help. She decided not to. She didn't like Kathy either.

Bart held the phone and tried to reorganize his thoughts. He tried to figure out his next step because, somehow, he just knew that Kathy wouldn't be willing to help. Lily shifted beside him; forced him to remember her presence. "You want to help me?" Bart asked in defeat, handed his phone out to her. "Then help me find my son."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck managed to meander around the issue of family medical history for nearly an hour. They filled out lots of those little boxes, discussed his suicidal feelings and other things that, surprisingly, were more comforting than a quick talk about his family. He even delayed through a discussion of his paternal side, was almost tempted to make up stories to setback any questions concerning Misty Bass. He was kind of hoping the intake officer would decide they'd taken enough time and skip it outright. He should have known better. This place was very thorough. So at quarter past four he finally gave up.

"Any history of mental disorder on your maternal side?" The doctor asked same as he had for the paternal.

"My mother was bipolar," Chuck kicked his feet out and then dragged the heels back across the carpet.

"When was she diagnosed?"

"In 2001," Chuck admitted. "But my dad said she started acting strange after they got married." Chuck backtracked yet again as he realized the doctor wouldn't recognize the significance. "She was eighteen when they got married." Therein was the problem. She was so young and so very much like him. Most kids looked to eighteen with excitement; Chuck had always stumbled towards it with something akin to dread.

"And is she still being treated?"

"She killed herself."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

All four waited expectantly for Dan to call them back, Serena's panicked voicemail request enough to make the phone ring thirty minutes later. Serena lunged for it, pressed it to her ear immediately. She could hear voices in the background, though whether it was police or paramedics she couldn't differentiate. "What happened?" She yelled out before Dan could even greet her.

"Jenny was drugged," Dan gave the factual answer. "They think someone slipped her something at Matt Price's party.

"Why was she even there?"

She could hear Dan's exhalation through the line. "She's not been keeping the best company," Dan admitted.

"Is she going to be alright?" Serena asked as Blair slapped her. It was the brunette's polite suggestion that they move the topic to one of more relevance.

"Yes, the paramedics want to take some blood, figure out what it was."

"Do you know about the Gossip Girl posting?" Serena said with a glare at her friend.

"Yeah, I saw it."

"Is it true?" Serena asked as the rest collectively held their breath.

"What?" Dan asked almost dumbly. Hadn't he just established his sister had been drugged? Then he realized what they were asking. "About Chuck you mean? No, not at all. He's the one who called us."

"He called you," Serena repeated in disbelief, the rest of her friends sitting straighter at the thought.

"Yeah, he took care of Jenny until we got here." Dan said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if he hadn't predicted the worst himself. "He protected her."

Serena covered the mouthpiece, whispered the truth to her relieved audience. The frowns turned to something different, Blair's eyes even watered with the force of her relief.

"Is Chuck there now?" Serena asked.

"No, he took off right after," Dan admitted and the rest of the audience finished the detour and returned their attention back to the original issue.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily genuinely tried hard but it was nearly five o'clock the next morning. She didn't have a magic hat or a magic eight ball to foretell the future. So mostly she sat beside her husband, crossed her legs and kept up the uncomfortable silence. Bart had tried to contact his niece but she was still being processed. He passed his phone from one hand to the other, startled when it finally did ring. The 206 area code gave him hope from a different angle. "Hello," Bart answered.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The voice screamed and he pulled the phone back. "How dare you get my daughter arrested?"

"It's just a misunderstanding," Bart insisted. "I was looking for my son."

"Do you usually sick the state police on him?" Kaitlyn McFayden screamed louder. "It's not a wonder he's in rehab!"

"Charles is in rehab!" Bart repeated loud enough for not only Lily, but the four interested teens in the hall to hear.

"You didn't even know," Kaitlyn mocked through the airwaves. "It's not a wonder he ended up there."

There was a scuffle through the line but Bart was no longer paying attention. He was still working through his sister-in-laws little proclamation. His son was in rehab? He didn't know whether to be impressed or embarrassed. The first overwhelmed but a bit of the second snuck through.

"Bart," Jack's voice replaced that of his wife. "I'm sorry about that."

"What?" Bart mumbled back.

"Listen, I don't know what's happening with Chuck but we're both worried about our daughter. Can you fix the misunderstanding?" Bart's former friend was far more gracious in his request.

"Yes," Bart turned his attention back. "Of course I will." They talked for a couple more minutes and then ended the call much more amicably than it had started. Bart laid his phone on the bed and contemplated the entire mess.

"Would you like me to stay?" Lily suggested and he knew she wasn't talking about that evening, or even the next couple days. "I can try to help you through this."

"No," Bart shook his head. He meant what he had said earlier. He might want to edit out the four and five letter words but the context hadn't changed. "I'll figure something out," He promised. "You need to move out."

She understood. They given it a good try but the two couldn't fashion a marriage out of a need to save his son.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck lay in a hammock by the southern building. The sun was just starting to crest as Chuck's eyes fluttered closed. Clayton House was perched on the top of a hill, an enormous historic manor house that had been readapted for use as a recovery centre. It had a Victorian porch that stretched the entire length of the building with an overhanging roof to protect from the rain. There was no rain that morning, just the fresh scent of dew slowly evaporating under the morning sun and mingling with the thick odour of damp trees. From the outside the building retained every ounce of historical charm. The inside was contrasting in its modernity. The entire building had been gutted and rebuilt to suit patient needs. The walls were decorated in modern neutrals, patient rooms expanded to fit two beds and a liberal amount of space between them. Besides the treatment rooms, the center housed an enormous library, music and art studios as well as an expansive pool that filled one entire corner.

None of those were the reasons why Chuck agreed to come. That's why he was laying in a hammock outside, letting the early morning breeze lull him from side to side. He was outside because he could watch the rest of New Haven stretch out below him. There was nothing but a full mile of rolling green landscape to separate the two, trees that dotted the landscape, artfully constructed gardens and a natural pond completing the serene backdrop. Chuck had debated options for an hour that morning, finding more fault than acceptance until Dr. Sherman had finally hit on something right. Chuck had accepted the solution when it had ventured away from New York or Boston to something more important.

If Chuck looked far enough to the South he could see Yale University rise, rows of green offsetting the historical stone, manicured pathways meandering through miles of contemporary glass. If he looked far enough to the South he could catch his future. It gave him something to focus on. And he did just that. Chuck pulled his fedora down to cover his eyes and let the spring breeze lull him to his first contented sleep in months.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Happy Easter. I wanted to give you something a little more upbeat to and the words flowed easily enough for me to do so. Hope the Season's Blessings shine down on all of you._

_As for Chuck. I have to say that I never watched the pilot first and when I did I found it so horrific. I wonder even now if the writer's truly realize just how far they went. I'd always kind of avoided the issue but I decided in this story that I'd meet it head on. I didn't think that an apology would ever be enough so I had always planned to use Jenny (and for the record, yes Annablake I still do hate Jenny) and give him a chance for a rewrite. In my mind it's still not enough but I don't think anything could be. I also wanted him to get help because he chose to and not because everyone else kept asking him to. He's a strong enough personality that I think no matter how much everyone else was 'right' he'd still resent them after a while if he went because they pushed him to it._

_Wigbee – For the record the only thing Chuck was contemplating was how to get Jenny out of there._

_Annablake –I think Nate is serious but I also think it's his level of serious (what a two edged explanation). As for how long Chuck will be in rehab....well to quote Georgina "he'll last longer than Lohan." Oh and if you noticed, the Sherman call was "off screen". I didn't want to give it all away._

_Tiff – Blair's not going to write him but he's going to see her when he gets back and she's going to make him an offer he can't refuse._

_Princetongirl - thanks_

_Sky Samuelle – I can't help it (the song stuff). I'm just obsessed with music. That's the only reason I caught GG in the first place (because one of my students noticed I was listening to the Filthy Youth). I hope Bart's reaction lived up to expectations._

_BrittyKay – Yeah, I haven't decided whether to have Matt arrested yet. So tempted ___

_MidnightSky – Unfortunately Bart and Lily are both done, but they're gong to try to be civil and even friendly for the benefit of their kids. Bart's eventually going to attend one of her Charity Balls ;)_

_Hiddenletter – I'm glad you enjoyed it._

_PeytonSwayerScott15 – Chuck/Jenny = NO NO NO. Sorry, I still can't stand Jenny._

_Up Next – Did I mention that Chuck has to share a room? Nate better suck it up because his feelings are starting to show and Serena and Dan contemplate a shared future...just not in the way either might want._


	35. Chapter Thirteen Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Thirteen – Part Two**

Despite all his misgivings in pursuing treatment, Chuck settled into the daily routine with ease. He learned to balance reflective time with schooling, to speak candidly during individual work and to tolerate group sessions. He even accepted travelling by facility bus. The only time he was allowed to leave the premises was when he travelled by coach. The only reason he was allowed to leave the premises was to attend nightly AA meetings. He learned to accept the limitations. The only time they bothered him was at free time, when he didn't have a purpose or an object. Then the boredom hit along with the nagging reminder that he was institutionalized. He didn't let it bother him long. He learned to find other pleasures. He tinkered with the piano in the music room; finally put those expensive lessons to use. He took to swimming laps daily, twice if the day felt particularly long. Mostly he studied. He wrote enrichment assignments, corrected every mistake he'd made all term and by the third night wondered what exactly he was becoming. That night he walked straight outside and stared at the moon, tried to decide if the world had fallen from its usual axis. It looked fine so he walked back in and wrote another essay titled 'Changing Attitudes to Work in the 20th Century'.

He rarely talked to anyone. He was supposed to have a roommate but the boy was nowhere to be found. His clothes overtook the shared closet, and an expensive acoustic guitar stood in one corner but that was the only evidence anyone had ever been there. Chuck wasn't unhappy. He hadn't looked forward to sharing a room. Chuck had never had to share anything before. It didn't stop him from asking after the boy at bed checks the fourth evening. "Where's my roommate," He said as he pointed to the collection on the left.

"What? Sebe? He's been discharged," The nurse answered.

"Then why's his stuff still here?"

"You'll find out soon enough," The nurse promised as she left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Kathy kissed the envelope before she laid in on her cousin's pillow. She had intended on staying the full twenty-one days but sometimes life interferes with plans, or offers new ones. Kathy had been offered a six month contract in Asia. Family was family but her career needed saving just as much. So she grabbed at her carry bag and started for the door, prepared to walk around her uncle but Bart held her arm. "That's it? You're going to leave without telling me where Charles is?"

"If he wanted you to know he'd have called by now," Kathy pointed out as she stole her arm back.

"That's it?" Bart muttered in disbelief.

"No," Kathy said as she held out another envelope. "Can you give this to Serena?" Bart ripped it out of his nieces' hand. "I wouldn't crumple it," She reprimanded. "It's rather important." Bart forced his hand to relax. "Well Uncle Basstard, it's been a blast! Toodleloo!"

"Have fun in Hong Kong," Bart threw back. '_Don't fall under a commuter train.'_ He mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

"Now, now," She chastised with a toss of her hair. "Is that any way to talk to family?" She finished on her way out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck tried to hold back the scowl as one girl _reflected_ on the feelings of the other. He really hated group which was strange because he actually enjoyed individual therapy. Maybe he liked the latter because it was the chance to speak entirely about himself and to do so to a captive audience. He talked himself hoarse and in contrast to Dr. Sherman, Chuck was pleased with facility counsellors. Dr. Sherman was always pushing him to understand past precedents, these counsellors were far more concerned with moving forward. They got him to examine his triggers and to start planning for a future after treatment. It felt much more productive.

Group therapy was something entirely different. You were expected to reflectively listen and try to decipher the needs and feelings of others. The thought alone made him nauseous. At least they didn't ask him to participate more than was absolutely necessary. It had only been one outburst! He guessed '_you just need to get laid'_ wasn't an acceptable answer when he was supposed to say '_I can hear that you're feeling frustrated.'_ Or maybe it's just the fact that they knew he wasn't listening. That wasn't his fault. His group was ten girls and two guys (himself included). And that other guy, well, he was as girly as the rest. It was an exaggerated version of the facilities gender balance, there were two girls for every boy. Normally that wouldn't have bothered Chuck, but it's not like he could enjoy himself. That was against Clayton House rules.

So he contented himself with staring blankly into space or playing games. Today he was deciding how many drinks it would take to bed each of his fellow patients. The blonde on the end was definitely three shots of straight vodka. The brunette in the middle was obviously a lightweight, I'd only take a single drink to inch his fingers upward. He was undecided about the sole redhead, she looked like a non-drinker. He kind of wondered why she was here at all. The only one he was certain about was the curly haired brunette in the middle: the one whose tears were always accompanied by red blotches and two lines of white snot. He's need seven drinks before he could consider hitting that. He covered the entire circle before he realized what he was doing. He was engaging in exactly the thought process that scared him. He could feel himself grow pale and quickly grabbed at his water bottle before someone else noticed (heaven forbid he be questioned in group). He'd finished half before the colour came back.

Dr. Sherman never warned him that once you started therapy it could unlock stuff you weren't prepared for, or that you would suddenly hate things you had once accepted as normal. Chuck had slept with a lot of drunken women. To be even more honest, he'd poured a lot of alcohol to reduce inhibitions. He used to laugh about it, used to not feel an ounce of guilt. He'd reasoned that if they chose to drink with him than they must have had a good idea where it would lead. Or he rationalized that if they could still walk straight, form coherent sentences and chose to touch him first than everything was fine. Chuck was pretty sure it was that reasoning that had given Matt his ideas. Now Chuck felt all the guilt but it was too late to undo any of it. Somehow the justification that he always had more to drink fell flat. So Chuck shook his head, finished the rest of his water and tried again to banish the past in favour of a future.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena shouldn't have felt awkward in the Humphrey loft. She'd passed enough hours there, traded stolen kisses for broken family rules and fallen in love for the first time. She wouldn't have felt awkward except she was the second Van der Woodsen to visit that day. Her mother had come by every single day since the incident with Jenny. She was already trying to create a new niche, wind her way into another family before she'd even moved hers out of the last. Serena was really starting to hate her mother. She tried to reason the disgust to hypocrisy, insensitivity or the stain of deception. She knew that wasn't all. She knew she was angry that Lily Bass could so easily run away with a Humphrey while she was left tongue-tied with hers.

She was single now but somehow that wasn't enough. Dan wasn't another boy that she could tempt with a flip of her hair or a sparkling smile. Serena was really good at attracting the attention, pooling potential suitors but she wasn't so good at approaching the one she really wanted. Besides, who knew if Dan even wanted her? They'd talked a bit off and on, hardly the groundwork for some grand reconciliation. Not to mention her mother was openly pursuing his father now. Put it all together and it didn't exactly spell romantic destiny.

So Serena sat beside Jenny, gave the youngest Humphrey her full attention. The girl had begged off school since the incident. It was a stomach flu that began and ended with total social humiliation. The police had started their investigation and their constant presence in and out of the school kept Jenny away. Serena knew it couldn't last forever. They'd played two games of backgammon when the bell rang. Dan left them to answer the door, returned a couple minutes later with a bewildered expression on his face. Serena didn't know why until the other boy stepped from behind.

Marcus looked so hesitant and Serena could guess why. Dan's distrust was evident. He'd have bared entry entirely but he couldn't forget the boy's service. Marcus Anders had come across Dan, Vanessa and Jenny at the Price house, had played the part of crowd control and minimized the fervour that could have overtaken. Now the older boy stood awkwardly, brown hair hanging in his face and bouquet of white lilies held out as a barrier. Jenny eyed the boy and the flowers sheepishly, slight blush colouring her cheeks a more lifelike tone.

"Can I speak with Jenny privately?" Marcus asked with bred politeness. Serena easily agreed, slender hand forcing Dan to do as well.

They didn't talk long but Dan counted every minute. He knew the boy's reputation: drug user and slacker extraordinaire. He might have played the part of Prince Charming on Friday night but Marcus Anders had long before been cast as Dorian Gray. Marcus left the house immediately after he left Jenny's bedroom. The other two didn't stay to see him off, they went right back to the other room.

"What did he say?" Dan asked his sister.

"He just asked me to return to school by Thursday."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had just finished the third section to his essay rewrite when the door burst open. Apparently there were some benefits to being institutionalized; it provided an easy excuse for past poor performances. If you didn't write a single thing on your Cold War final exam, then '_I went to rehab'_ was apparently excuse enough. Mr. Fraser had happily faxed alternative topics that morning. He only had fifteen minutes before the facility tutor stole the paper back.

Chuck drew his eyes up in agitation. When he caught sight of the other boy he did a double take. The boy looked exactly like Nate. Well if Nate was three years younger and about fifty pounds thinner. He had the same sandy coloured hair and clear blue eyes, even the same damned bangs that hung into them. The bone structure matched though this boy's was hollowed to match his lanky frame. He was yelling down the hallway, waving hand and cheery grin flipping quickly to the middle finger and a glare. "God I hate her," The stranger called out before he flopped unceremoniously onto the opposite bed.

Chuck chose to ignore the outburst along with the strange feeling of deja vu. He turned his eyes back downward to finish his thoughts on the nuclear arms race. He'd started the conclusion before the tapping began, the little thump, thump that messed with Chuck's concentration. The other boy was lifting alternate heels before dropping them back to the wood floors. "Do you mind?" Chuck snapped after the fiftieth bump.

"Yes," The boy said without hesitation. He didn't only continue, he lifted his feet higher and let them fall with twice the force.

"I'm trying to finish an exam?" Chuck pointed out.

"There's a perfectly good library for stuff like that."

"This is _my _bedroom," Chuck tried to hold back the snarl.

"Mine too," The boy countered.

That made Chuck snap his head up. _Just great!_ His roommate was a jerk with a propensity for foot tapping. "Do you mind if I finish up? I only have five minutes."

"They always say that, but then it's like another half an hour before you get your room back."

Chuck rolled his eyes and tried to scribble out his last couple sentences.

"What's the topic?"

Chuck just kept writing.

"I really hope you're not one of those nerdy types."

Chuck just kept ignoring.

"I bunked with a guy in 2007 who insisted on reciting the Latin alphabet every single morning. Sometimes before bed too!"

Chuck pressed his pencil so hard that it broke. A litany of muffled curses later and there was a knock at the door. The tutor poked his head after; announced Chuck's time was up. Chuck glowered at the sandy haired, blue eyed intruder.

"He'll just be one more minute," his roommate grabbed a pencil from the side table and tossed it over. "I'm sure your watch is fast, it's always a couple minutes off." The tutor crossed his arms but he didn't go for the paper. Chuck took the opportunity to finish his concluding sentence and then gave the paper willingly. Once the tutor left Chuck collected his writing utensils and put them back in their case.

"So you're my roommate," the stranger gave him a once over. "I've had worse."

Chuck crossed him arms.

"The strong silent type I see," the boy smirked as he said it. "Then I'll do the talking. I'm Sebastian Everett the Third, heir to the Everett fortune blah blah blah blah. My great, great grandfather made his fortune inventing a new way to distil Whiskey and yes, I am aware of the irony in that."

Chuck raised both eyes but didn't speak.

That seemed to unnerve the other boy a bit, but only momentarily. "Some reciprocity would be beneficial."

"I'm Chuck Bass," Chuck offered after a further, deliberate pause.

"I can sense we're making progress already," Sebastian decided. "So what are you in for?"

"Alcohol."

"And?" The other boy asked when Chuck kept his response to a word.

"Just alcohol."

"Oh." The boy looked almost crestfallen.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Honestly? It's a bit disappointing." Sebastian decided. "I mean it's hardly glamorous. I think you could have done better!"

"Like?"

"You should try to throw heroin in next time."

"I'll take that into consideration," Chuck said thinly.

"Wow," Sebastian crossed his arms and sat back on his bed. "Bad day or what?"

Things were not looking good for Chuck. He'd only known his roommate ten minutes and he already wanted to punch him. Suddenly the remaining seventeen days stretched a little longer. Chuck fell back onto his own bed and debated whether he should try to be social. He didn't need to debate long. The door was flung over and a tiny girl entered the melee. She couldn't have reached five feet, with enormous brown eyes and hair that hung to the middle of her back. "Sebe!" She yelled out and ran to hug the other boy.

"Brittany," Sebastian gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Eleven days, that's a new record." The girl pointed out as she stepped back.

"They sent me to boarding school in the middle of Kansas! You know what they have in Kansas? Rolling green hills and cows as far as the eye could see. And I'm not talking beef producing animals." Sebastian shuddered at the memory. "What did they expect would happen?"

"You promised you'd be out at least thirty days."

"I like to overestimate my abilities."

"Not where it counts," The girl admitted with a giggle.

"God I love you," Sebastian said with a wink. They'd likely have kept talking but the floors' main nurse passed by the door. Her name was Deborah, a heavy set thirty year old with a permanent set of frown lines.

"Brittany! You know you're not allowed in the boy's hall!"

"Brit," Sebastian yelled as the girl was ushered out. "Can you set the pool at thirty-one days? I have a good feeling this time." Sebastian glared at the nurse as she dragged the tiny girl's arm out by the arm. "God I hate that one," Sebastian said, turning his head to watch the girl's behind. "Not that one though."

Chuck just arched a brow and grabbed at a novel. It was a bestseller of the crime sort. When he realized it was exactly the sort his father read he tossed it back. He'd go to the library later.

"She's the biggest slut here," Sebastian said, leering turning his smile to a smirk. "Well, except for, what was her name again, Megan Albright or Alnight or something. I think she finally got better though," he added with a sigh. "It's too bad because that girl could do things with her tongue that you couldn't even imagine."

Chuck tried not to smirk as well, he really did, but he couldn't help himself.

"Of course we're not _allowed _to have sex with the female patients," Sebastian added derisively. "Not that it really matters. No one ever _really _gets thrown out. _Believe me I've tried_," He rolled his eyes knowingly. "As long as you're parents are paying enough to keep you committed, they just toss you back down to the Southern wing for a while."

"I committed myself," Chuck felt the need to explain.

"God," Sebastian reared back at the thought. "Why would you do _that_?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By the time Blair arrived at the Bass townhouse Damien's work was nearly completed. Bart had yet to move into the house though the slow shift of belongings was already taking place. Lily and her children remained at the Palace in the interim, though their joined family continued to be divided box by box. They'd discussed keeping things the same for Chuck's return but ultimately decided it was better to formalize things before rather than bring Chuck into the middle of it. No one had asked Eric or Serena what they wanted, but then again, that wasn't the usual practice.

Damien was dangling from the top of a ladder when she entered Chuck's bedroom. The scripted wall had been covered the day they found it, Bart seeing that it was done both expediently and quietly. The next day Blair had walked in and decided that it wasn't enough to return the space to its original form. She'd commissioned Damien to create something else instead, paying even when Eric's boyfriend insisted on offering the service for free. As she watched the mural come to fruition, the mixing of text and background, Blair realized it wasn't just for Chuck. She needed all of that covered too, not just with paint but with something more meaningful.

The rest of their group was gathered around; designer clothes traded for jeans and oversized shirts. They were ready to put Damien's vision to fruition, put colour to broad outlines. Once Blair had suggested it, the rest had gone with matched enthusiasm. Blair smiled at her closest friends, moved her heels across the carpeting and watched in astonishment.

"Blair!" Serena took a look at her best friend's clothing. Blair was the only one not in uniform. She had no jeans and her Gucci tank could hardly be confused for a paint smock.

"What?"

"What are you wearing?"

"I thought I would supervise," Blair said.

"You mean stand back and let us do the work," Eric reasoned.

"I'm not artistic," Blair defended.

"Damien drew the outlines," Serena pointed out. "It's just colour by numbers at this point."

"I'm hardly dressed for manual...." Nate crossed the room and grabbed his thick navy sweatshirt. He tossed it at Blair before she could finish the sentence.

"What about my shoes?" Blair asked.

"Those are last season," Nate cut through her bull. Her whole outfit was last season. Blair had hoped she could skip the actual labour but she wasn't about to risk anything truly important over it.

Blair grabbed Nate's sweatshirt from where it had fallen. She had it over her head before she made her retort. "Did Eric float you some brain cells or did you miss your usual breakfast?" She asked as she tucked her hair beneath the hood.

Nate would have tried for a rejoiner but his thoughts got wrapt up with her hair. She looked positively glorious swathed in his clothing. How had he missed it before? The way her slender body disappeared within, only the peaks of her breasts and line of her slender hips pulling a silhouette through the voluminous cover. How could he have never noticed how her doe eyes stood so stark against her pale features, or how her slim nose curled just right? _She was positively perfect_, Nate admitted to himself and then froze. Oh God! This was going to be a problem!

"Glad to see everything is back to normal," Blair raised both eyes at Nate's continued silence. "Brush," She snapped her fingers and held a hand out. He handed it without a word, went to work on the opposite side. He'd have worked from the opposite room if it was possible.

The Non-Judging Breakfast Club worked through the afternoon and well into the evening hours. They traded laughter, made many mistakes that Damien was called to fix but in the end they produced something that exceeded any of their expectations. They ate dinner, watched a movie while it dried and then Serena was the first to put an experimental finger to the paint, to trace the calligraphic Chuck Bass.

Blair was last. She ran her finger along the red text in one corner, the gentle admonishment to '_Stay Sober'. _Then she grabbed a blackened brush and added their fundamental message. It was a thin line of black, which despite the easier protestation of lack of artistic skill matched the flowing lines of the rest.

She might not have said it then, but Chuck could read it every day from now on.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The last thing Chuck remembered was Blair's lips pursing to a perfect circle, her eyes rolling back as he bit her shoulder, the throaty gasp that could be only hers. The next thing he remembered was the shriek of an untuned acoustic guitar. Chuck opened his eyes and angled his head. He understood which one had been a dream and which was painful reality. It was probably a good thing as he couldn't afford those fantasies anymore. It didn't make the intrusion welcome. His roommate was strumming loudly, turning the pegs at the head until they sounded in tune. "What the hell are you doing?" Chuck muttered across the room.

"It's 6:32am," Sebastian announced. "Consider this your wake up call."

"Couldn't you use an alarm clock like a regular person?"

"You should thank me. If you're not up by 6:37 then Deborah brings her unique blend of nagging to motivate you."

Chuck didn't say a thing; he just pulled the pillow tighter to his head and tried to return to his slumber. It took only thirty seconds before a small, plastic triangle connected with the side of his face. He could feel the scowl form despite his attempts to rest. He could feel something else as well, someone close by. When he opened his eyes again Sebastian was standing directly over him.

"Now that you're up," Sebastian grabbed his guitar pick back. "Could you open the door?"

Chuck kicked at the sheets until he was sitting. "Why?"

"History," Sebastian winked. "I'm about to play Deborah's favourite. I always serenade her when I get back."

Chuck rolled his eyes but stood anyway, walked across the room and pushed the door open. While he was up he started collecting his clothes for the day. Sebastian started a song that, despite its historic roots, was familiar to Chuck. He could name the band and song within three lines. It was proof that his dad had messed with far too many twenty year olds.

_"Come out, come out, no use in hiding. Come now, come now, can you not see? There's no place here..."_

Chuck rolled his eyes and tried to decide between a sunflower yellow polo and an aquamarine button up. There was no reason to lower standards just because he was exiled. He was growing a bit worried. He was starting to take too much pleasure in coordinating outfits, even by Chuck Bass standards.

_"What were you expecting? Not room for both, just room for me. So you will lay your arms down. Yes I will call this home, away, away, you have been banished..."_

He decided on the blue and went to selecting pants. By the time they were tossed to his bed, his roommate was giving the song his all. It wasn't a soulful rendering; just a loud one and Chuck guessed that was the purpose. Rather than proceeding to the shower, Chuck sat back and swallowed a bit of the other boy's enthusiasm, watched him belt out the last few lines.

_"I'll build heaven and call it home 'cause you're all dead now. I live with justice, I live with my greedy need, I live with no mercy, I live with my frenzied feeding, I live with my hatred, I live with my jealousy, I live with the notion that I don't need anyone but me. Don't drink the water..."_

Their door slammed so violently that Chuck thought the windows would blow out. It shook the walls and reverberated through the entire wing. Sebastian tried to continue the refrain but he soon collapsed in laughter, guitar falling beside him as his face turned to red. He tried to make a comment but he couldn't stop laughing and the force of it caused Chuck to smile as well. Once he rescued his breathing, Sebastian made his comment. "God, now it feels like I'm really back."

"Congratulations," Chuck said with a sarcasm that was becoming natural.

"You must take pleasure in little things. Or at least that's what my therapist is always saying."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"A really good massage, dinner at a truly pretentious restaurant, or a backless dress and I'm not talking about the ones that sink only halfway. I mean the ones that drop far enough for you to see the swell of a fine behind."

"I'd settle for a cigarette," Chuck admitted. He'd smoked his last the night before and being on lockdown didn't allow for quick trips to the local 7-11.

"No one told you to pack forty-seven cartons for your incarceration?"

"I didn't think about it," Chuck admitted.

"Well then I can help you," Sebastian opened the side drawer and grabbed a pack. He offered one to his bunkmate and tossed the rest back. "Though I'll let you in on a little secret too, Juan, the admitting nurse for the girls' side, he'll get you some though the fees are exorbitant. You can pay him 10$ for a single pack but you really need to pay him 15$ or he'll get you these nasty unfiltered ones. Trust me, even in the middle of a nic fit you'd still gag on them."

"Thanks," Chuck said as he grabbed his jacket from the side. He didn't even get an arm through before the knock.

The nurse's head appeared behind the door within a moment. It wasn't Deborah; apparently Sebe's serenading was enough to keep her away. It was the petite Asian nurse from the front desk. "Chuck Bass, you have a visitor."

Chuck's mouth went firm at the thought. "I said no phone calls and no visitors," He barked at the nurse.

"It's your father," The nurse said as if that made some difference.

Chuck's jaw went harder; his eyes darkened enough for the other two to notice.

"He's not leaving without seeing you."

Chuck took a deep breath and allowed one last lingering look at the cigarette before he handed it back to his bunkmate. Sebastian waved it twice and gave a promise. "I'll keep it for you."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The entire population of St. Judes and Constance Billiard stood as Matthew Price was arrested. They did it on a Thursday, at the school wide assembly. It was an admonishment no doubt, or a warning to the rest. They'd find out later that the evidence was insurmountable. They'd uncovered the exact drug used on Jenny in Matt's medicine cabinet, tucked between his toothpaste and a bag of ecstasy.

Jenny had fulfilled her promise. She was sitting front and center to watch it happen, didn't let her eyes slip even as the boy glowered. She slipped her hand through her brother's and smiled larger instead. Dan left his own seizure for lunch time. That's when he marched across the courtyard and grabbed Marcus' arm. He put a hand out when the boy turned. "I want to thank you."

Marcus took one look at the hand it but didn't offer his own. "I don't know what you're talking about," He said flippantly and walked away. Dan would have doubted his instincts, but there was a glimmer in the other boy's eyes that proved Dan's theory.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It's funny how a thirty minute conversation with one's father could undo nearly a week of collected calm. Chuck was shaking when he arrived back at his room, chest wrapped back to knots and thoughts decidedly darker. His father always had that effect. More than anyone else, Bart Bass was the basis for the no contact order. It didn't matter if his father was trying to be thoughtful or sympathetic, it rarely felt right. Chuck couldn't relax in his presence. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, the strategic comment or insult to fall into the most pedestrian of conversations. Chuck sat on the edge of his bed and just stared without focus. He tried to reorganize his thoughts until they were in the correct order.

"Chuck," Sebastian called out. He stood on the central night table, pulled at the leaded window until it fell open and then held a cigarette out to Chuck.

Chuck took it gratefully and Sebastian jumped back down. He pulled the sheets from his bed, tucked them under the door and grabbed his desk chair to force under the handle. "Proceed," He waved an arm to the abandoned night table.

Chuck stood by the fresh air, took a deep breath as he lit the cigarette. It took only one drag for Chuck to realize that there was more than tobacco rolled inside. That boy was definitely like Nate. He arched a brow at his bunkmate but said nothing. It was enough for the message.

"If you pay Juan $100 then you get the _really _good stuff," Sebastian said almost smugly.

Chuck let the initial tremors of guilt disappear with his tension. It was just the mildest blend, more tobacco than marijuana. It wasn't like Nate's usual. Still, even as the calm overtook, the guilt snuck back. It made Chuck butt the end on the window after he'd smoked less than half. He offered it back to the other boy.

"Keep it," Sebastian suggested. "You'll need the rest the next time your dad visits."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it's always about the fathers," Sebastian decided. "Or the mothers or the first loves..." He rambled on. "The second loves, one missed period, the gossiping mean girls, the exacting teachers, or the pizza delivery man who forgot the pepperoni! It's always about everyone else," Sebastian finished with a wink that proved he knew the truth was opposite. "It's _never_ about us!"

That was the moment Chuck decided Sebastian might be more like Eric.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So I hope you enjoyed Chuck in rehab :) Did you find the character of Sebe funny? Chuck can't figure out whether he's more like Nate or Eric but I hope you've realized who he's actually most like. More of the other characters next post. BTW: as for Rapist:Chuck. That little bit is the last time I am even going to discuss it in this story so if you're wondering why Chuck considers himself a rapist then he just spelled it out for you. It ties in with TH canon that way._

_CBEBTR trory – Yeah Nate is bottling up pretty hard. It's hard for me to feel sympathy though, considering he never really seems to care for the feelings of others._

_Bluestriker666 – thanks_

_Dysenchanted2 – Yeah, I'm glad they veered off too. I tried to read the books later and stopped within a chapter of the first._

_BrittyKay – it's really important to me that Chuck isn't forced into anything._

_Zara – well I managed to write some Jenny here without blowing chunks so I guess I'm warming up to her :)_

_Bellakatalina – Chuck has actually made a lot of progress, he's just at an awkward phase now. I would say look at it like this. The two fundamental problems with Chuck at the beginning of TH was (1) he's a narcissist who couldn't empathize with others (2) he didn't reflect or judge his own actions. Once he's got both of those in sync then this story is over. The problem is when he started to self-reflect he hated what he saw and became really disgusted with himself (not surprisingly). But he has to be able to reflect and empathize together to really put other people's needs and desires first. Even in YCFYF he was mostly apologizing/making things up to Blair to keep her for himself (ie: fulfill his wants). He's still struggling with the empathizing part (did you notice how much he hates group therapy) but he'll get there by the end._

_Puresimplicity – Yeah, part of me feels so sorry for Bart. He's just clueless. But he's going to have someone work with him on this :) I wouldn't leave him to struggle through alone._

_Doxeh – Yeah, I'm not happy with canon but I think my own little universe is so parallel that it doesn't bother me. I think the biggest issue for me is after this story is done. I likely won't write anything else if the show keeps going the way it is. But we're really only halfway through this story so they'd got a long time to fix things. That was the Jenny cameo. I changed my mind a month or so back and decided to include her more but only as needed by others (and as long as I can keep from blowing chunks). As for the OC...It hasn't been written out; it just hasn't been written yet. You'll see who it is in about 2-3 chapters._

_Oc-Journey – I'll try to update as quickly as possible but I do have a demanding job (I always seem to get a lot written over holidays). If everything comes this easy they'll be no problems. And Kathy is gone :)_

_PeytonSwayerSwift – Yeah, YCFYF was really all about Chuck's mom killing herself. It's a major deviation from canon but I wrote it before they established what had happened to Chuck's mom._

_Tiff – it'll be good (the offer)._

_Annablake – Yeah, Blair has really come a long way too. Yeah, I decided to have Matt arrested because he really was that bad. Yeah! You got the whole thing about Misty. That is the basis of Chuck's mammoth freak out. He's __really__ afraid he's the same._

_Princetongirl – Thanks ;)_

_Sky Samuelle – I'd say Sebastian is a bit of both. Mostly he's a foil though, a sign of how far Chuck has come since 16. As for Nate, at least Blair is oblivious to him right now._

_Roswell Dream Girl – Blair will be involved in his recovery. I don't want to pair them up soon though because it would be a disaster. It would be Blair trying to manage with a head case and who truly wants that?_

_Up Next – Blair is going to find out that focusing all her attention on Chuck has caused other problems for her, life goes on in NY, Chuck gets some bad news but you know what they say about problems shared ;) Do you think he can share his?_


	36. Chapter Fourteen Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Fourteen – Part One**

_April 7, 2009_

_I know a lot about secrets. I excell at them. I think most gay teenagers must. I managed to keep it hidden for a year after I discovered it. I never said it aloud. I never wrote it down. I tried to not even think it. I hoped it would go away and reasoned that I was no different than anyone else. We all have them, tiny bits of us that we keep conceal. At least I was no different in that._

_We are all scared of the judgement of others but that's not the entire reason why we keep secrets. We keep things secret not only because we don't want others to see all of us but because we're not ready to see ourselves. Our greatest secrets are wrapped within our greatest fears. That's why they can be hidden in plain view. The entire world can know our fault while we are too afraid to acknowledge them._

_Serena teased me mercilessly for months about coming out to Chuck first. I have to admit she had a point. Who would start with their unempathetic, womanizing stepbrother? I finally told her in California. Chuck had been the only one to guess._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Chuck wasn't sure whether he was lucky or cursed for drawing Sebastian Everett II as his roommate. Apparently the boy was an icon at the center, had lived there on and off for the last three years, a formidable feat since he was only sixteen now. He used to get discharged and readmitted, now his parents just kept his room at ready. Chuck had wondered why they let their son out at all. Then he heard a few conversations from 6-8 and he understood. That boy was good! He was also good at getting Chuck to socialize. If Chuck had been avoiding the rest of the patients then bunking with Sebastian forced him into the mix. He got dragged to the recreation rooms, played at something other than laps in the pool but mostly realized the truth. Just because he was in rehab didn't mean he had to devote all his time and energy to being rehabilitated. That was the problem. Chuck always had a propensity for obsession but now he was rediscovering the playful side he thought had been put to death.

In return Chuck had only to accept Sebastian's two faults: the first of word choice and the second hobby. Sebe (pronounced Seb-ee and one of the strangest conversions of the name Chuck had heard) managed to string the word God into nearly every sentence. He'd explained one night as they shared a cigarette that his great uncle was a Bishop of the Episcopal Church (from booze to God in a single generation). Apparently that gave Sebastian permission to use the Lord's name at will. It didn't really bother Chuck. The closest he got to religious was the St. Christopher's medal he wore around his neck and even that had been a gift.

The second wasn't so forgivable but Chuck was growing a tolerance to it. The boy strummed all hours of the day and night, favoured songs that dated closer to his year of birth than admission. By the second night, Chuck decided that Sebastian's biggest problem was being born twenty years too late. He strummed Silverchair, played at Nirvana, Bush, even tinkered around with Hole but mostly he preferred the Dave Matthews Band. It should have been an obscure reference for Chuck except for a long legged brunette named Phoebe. His father had dated her for three weeks which was a long time based on the Bart standard of 2004. She had been obsessed with the band and, for a moment in time, Chuck had been obsessed with her.

That's why when Sebastian hit the familiar notes Chuck couldn't help but smile. And when he reached three quarters of the way through Chuck couldn't help but sing along.

_"Hike up your skirt a little more, and show your world to me. In a boy's dream...In a boy's dream."_

It shocked Sebastian so much that he stumbled through five chords before recovering himself. Then he played louder to match Chuck's throaty intonations.

_"Oh I watch you there through the window. And I stare at you, you wear nothing but you wear it so well, tied up and twisted the way I'd like to be for you, for me, come crash into me."_

"Bravo!" Sebastian tossed the guitar to the side, too impressed to finish the last refrain. "You have hidden talents!"

"I try."

"But how?" He asked. "That songs from like _19_96!"

"One of my dad's girlfriends."

"Ah."

"I fucked her to that song," Chuck said with a self-satisfied smile. She might have made it four weeks if he hadn't. Not that Bart ever found out but Phoebehad had a strange attack of conscience (about ten minutes _after_ they were done).

"You had sex with your dad's girlfriend?" Sebastian asked with just the tiniest flicker of either disgust or disquiet. Chuck supposed it should have been disgusting but he'd never felt that way. He just remembered being fourteen years old and impressed that he could put one over on his dad.

"She was closer to my age," Chuck pointed out

That relieved the younger boy, initial aversion traded for a winning smile. "God!" Sebastian muttered in awe. "I had you pegged all wrong. I took you for a neurotic overachiever who took speed to stay awake."

"I told you I am just an alcoholic."

"So maybe I took liberties in the retelling." Sebastian shrugged casually. "But still...there might just be more to you than meets the eye."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena walked into the family suite ready to drop her bag on the side table. There was just one problem. The side table was gone. It was a Bass piece, some antique that Misty had collected in their travels. Serena stared at the empty space for a moment, felt the loss and then dropped her bag to the floor. Something changed every day at the Van der Bass suite. There would be a throw removed, another drawer emptied through, a missing vase or sculpture. It was the frequent reminders that everything was changing. Chuck's belongings had gone first, packed and moved over within three days. Bart's were slowly joining them. The Van der Woodsen's were slower to move, necessity delaying the final division. Bart's home, with the exception of some trim work and paint, was ready to be lived in. Lily still had tenants in their family townhouse. The lease had been broken but it would take another week before they could settle.

So for now they remained a family. Serena sometimes wondered why or how. How could Bart and Lily progress so amicably despite everything? She wanted to believe it was because her mother had comforted his father, or that maybe there was still a spark of something there. It could have been true, or at least she could have believed it if she hadn't heard the truth. She and Eric had listened at the door when the lawyers came, part curiosity and part outright dread. They could accept a physical division but neither wanted to face a real one. Once they heard the terms of the prenuptial they grew nervous. There had been an infidelity clause, probably reasonable for a woman like Lily. When they heard Bart ask the lawyer, in a clear and unemotional voice, to ignore it they'd exchanged looks. Bart had been smart enough to put it in but perhaps smarter to not enforce it. Any of the residual acrimony had been washed away with the gift and their mother and soon to be non-stepfather were able to end things as neutrally as they had begun.

Serena supposed she should be happy. Her mother had set worse precedents than this. They'd nearly run through flying china to escape a couple. She didn't feel happy though. In fact, as she watched all the little pieces of Bass disappear she felt distressed, even a slowly building misery. It was an ironic turn of events. She'd stumbled towards this marriage with more despair than any of the others. She'd loathed Bart Bass and the idea of being stepsister to Chuck? Well that had been worse! But now her heart broke to leave the two. She wasn't as bad as Eric though. Her brother had threatened the movers with bodily harm if they touched a thing in his room. They'd dragged boxes from her and her mother's but Eric's remained pristine. He'd have to get over it. Either that, or one day he'd arrive back from school and find his room emptied from top to bottom.

"Serena," Her mother's voice intruded on her thoughts. She turned to it and saw Lily walking her way, manila envelope in hand. "I forgot to give this to you. Bart said it was from Kathy." Serena took the package, allowed herself one last look at the bare wall before sitting to read. Serena grabbed her mother's letter opener from the side table, gave the flap a single rip and then pulled the letter. There were four pages of print, stapled in the top right corner. Attached to the first copy was a pink sticky crossed over with Kathy's cursive print.

_Dear Serena,_

_Sorry I didn't get the chance to deliver this myself. _

_Good Luck,_

_K_

The K was as elaborate as Kathy herself, two curving lines that spread across the full length of the tiny page. Serena pealed it away to read below. She got only as far as the first line when her heart sped out of control, little tremors of excitement building from the base of her stomach outward. She read through the paper three times, imprinted the date and time on her mind. She'd have written it across her arm if that wouldn't interfere with her interview. Kathy had got her an meeting with IMG models. It was the agency that represented not only Chuck's cousin but some of the most highly demanded models in the world.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Have you ever been to the Dominican in winter?" Sebastian asked excitedly, feet drumming again on their shared floor. Chuck nodded his head from across the room. They'd been talking for hours, feeding travel stories between others. They were freakishly similar despite the age divide. Sebastian launched into another story, got as far as Consuelo San Pedro de Bacoris when they heard the footsteps. They were hard and heavy just like the nurse they belonged to.

"Sebe," Deborah snapped before she'd even stepped into the room, girth preceding the rest. "You missed group this morning!"

"I got wrapt up in a novel."

"We've gone over this before," The nurses' resigned reprimand showed just how many times. "It's a mandated part of treatment here."

"Can't I just paint three abstract but emotionally relevant paintings to make up for it?"

"Finger painting doesn't cut it." The nurse retorted. Her chins jiggled enough to scare newer patients but Sebastian just smiled. "I will be escorting you personally tomorrow," Deborah promised.

"_You'll have to find me first_," Sebastian mumbled under his breath.

"How do you manage to skip group?" Chuck asked the moment Deborah was gone. "If I'm five minutes late they send a search party."

"I have my methods," Damien arched a brow smugly.

"Like?"

"And my secrets."

Chuck rolled his eyes and sat back. "I hate group."

"No one likes it. Well except for drama queens and this place has enough of those."

"My group is nearly all girls."

"Ah, then you have drawn the short straw."

"Is it always like that here? You know, two girls to one boy?"

"You actually mind?" Sebastian asked in surprise.

"Usually I wouldn't," Chuck agreed. "But group is like synchronized crying."

"I'd have to show you a picture of where I was." Sebastian said with a pointed look. "It's cyclical," He promised Chuck. "It's mostly boys after the New Year, and then the females take over from Valentine's Day to the onset of summer."

"So I'm four months too late." Chuck couldn't help but think how much better the last four months could have been if he had come here first.

"Or four weeks too early. What are you doing tonight?" Sebastian continued after a momentary pause.

"They're playing Quantum of Solace in the Rec,' Chuck suggested.

"Bond?" Sebastian arched a brow. "Usually a good choice but I have something better."

"Like?"

"Why don't you join me for the out trip?"

"Cricket?" Chuck rolled his eyes. He ought to have enjoyed cricket, the outfits alone were enough for him to love the sport. He couldn't. The first time Chuck had bowled to a batsman he'd got the ball back twice as hard, right in his most prized extremity. It had very nearly ended the reign of Chuck Bass three years before it'd begun. As it was he needed a full two days of bed rest.

"That's Mondays and Wednesdays. Tuesdays and Thursdays are something far more special."

"Like?"

"I'll sign you up," Sebastian flew out of the room before answering.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena's celebratory dinner was an epic event. Her friends swelled three tables at Butter, champagne toasts premature but flowing nevertheless. Serena had modelled a little when she was younger, catalogue work that she'd put to the back as another experience she'd remember but never repeat. It was what the photographer had said. She was stunningly beautiful but just too much so. She was too perfect, there was nothing to distinguish her or set her apart. Serena had accepted it. She hadn't thought to model as her future. In truth, Serena hardly thought about her future at all. She didn't need to; everything eventually fell into place for her with little to no effort. However, now that it had fallen she couldn't think of anything else. Her heart had never raced to her acceptance at Brown, it'd hardly moved at all. That alone made it seem right. With two exceptions the rest of the table agreed. Blair and Eric were the sole dissenters. They sipped their champagne rather than gulped, shared looks and wondered. Was this the best choice for Serena? That world brought so many temptations and the blonde bombshell had never excelled at restraint.

Serena smiled down the combined tables, blonde curls falling from side to side, alcohol building a rosy stain to her cheeks. She tried to let nothing could disturb that night, most particularly Nate's positioning beside Blair. Penelope had offered a seat first; she'd kept it empty on pain of scratched eyes. When Nate had sauntered in thirty minutes late she'd launched herself at him, all smiles, touches and coy suggestions. Nate was officially single now and Penelope wasn't about to miss another opportunity to land him. Nate had refused her, pulling the chair to sit beside Blair instead. The brunette hardly noticed because she was too deep in conversation with Eric. Nate waited patiently; spoke exclusively to Blair when the opportunity presented itself. He let his arm brush hers against the table, let his eyes feast too openly. Nate was becoming downright obvious and that made Serena downright nervous. This time it wasn't just for Nate, but for the other girl, the first outside their club to notice.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was the only boy to not know the destination, to watch out the window as the bus crawled down the hill towards Yale. He listened off and on to the other speakers but mostly he stared. He and his cousin had driven through the blackness, he caught glimpses of the university from the Southern side but Chuck had never been there. His parents weren't like Blair's. They hadn't brainwashed him to accept any one school as his destiny, they hadn't bred him from birth to accept an Ivy League future. They assumed he would attain greatness but they had never affixed that greatness to any school. After all, Bart had graduated from New York University and was happy to have done so. His grandfathers were a plumber and grocer respectively. There was no Ivy tradition to uphold, just the possibility to create one. When he watched the metal gates rise, the miles of manicured green and thick bundles of roses twining out of engineered boxes, Chuck knew he could pin the Bass name to Yale forever. He felt very much at home. It was almost disconcerting simply because it wasn't.

"You found another newbie to beat," One of the boys yelled enough to distract him.

"It's the only way he could win a match," Another met the teasing and Chuck realized they were yelling at Sebastian.

"Shhh!" Sebastian hushed the other boys. "Chuck doesn't know where we're going."

That seemed to amuse the entire bus. They talked amongst themselves but said only one thing more aloud. "I hope you're comfortable with aggression."

He didn't know what they were talking about until the white jacket was thrown his way, set of breeches, plastron and glove to complete the outfit. Chuck was a bit disturbed by the weight, the amount of Kevlar that was woven through. He couldn't help but remember the cricket incident. If a competitor could do that much damage with a wooden bat then how much could be done with a sword? The Yale fencing association sponsored Clayton House twice a week, provided materials and trainers to teach them the basics of the sport. Sebastian suited up without hesitation but Chuck just laid the uniform against one arm.

Then someone passed the sword. The moment the metal touched his hand, warmed beneath his wrist, the moment he flipped that wrist and felt the point move to his command, then Chuck knew this was something he could love. So he slipped the rest on, covered his face with a mask and adjusted to the diminished vision.

The night went just as the other boys had predicted. Sebastian, for all his rough and erratic movements, bettered Chuck in every single round. It wasn't surprising. They'd had only thirty minutes of instruction, barely enough time to memorize the four hand positions never mind the offensive or defensive rules, positioning of the feet or the science of the thrust or tarry. The only surprising part was Chuck's response to losing. He'd felt the frustration but it had never ended in eruption. He'd controlled his temper through every hit and Sebastian had scored repetitively, embarrassingly often. It didn't matter. When the masks came off, when Chuck pushed back his sweat soaked hair and offered a hand it was with genuine humility.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Sometimes the morning dawns bright, with shining sun that spins patterns through slowly budding leaves. Sometimes you wake up and know the day will end happily. Sometimes the skies open up, rain floods the earth and you know the day will end before it even begins. Blair knew something was wrong the moment she entered the school. She brushed at her wool jacket, and tried to chase the hanging droplets from her hair before it could frizz. She went to sit with her regular group. When it rained they took to the main floor, sat in the three metal benches that lined outside the main gymnasium. Blair always sat in the middle, the rest always gathered around but when she arrived that morning her place was occupied. Penelope sat between Kat and Is, eyes slowly following her Queen's arrival but feet making no effort to move. When Blair stood before her and Penelope still didn't move Blair remembered something. Penelope had always been a problem. She had a pedigree that could outdo hers and a desire for power that could rival. Blair should have gotten rid of her after the Jenny incident.

"Blair," Penelope smiled just enough to make her defined cheekbones pop further. "Why don't you join us?" She pointed to the bench on the right, eyebrow arching to match the side.

Blair arched her own brow higher, stared down and waited for the other girl's self-confidence to falter. She waited but it didn't. "I will when you give me my chair."

"That's too bad then," Penelope gave a flip of her straight brown hair and turned back to the rest of Blair's friends. Blair waited for one of them to intervene, to put an end to the whole charade. When they started talking instead Blair felt the first strains of dread.

She didn't let it show, she dropped the oversized Prada bag that served as her school bag right onto Penelope's foot. "Opps," She tried for effort but none of the other girls laughed.

"You should pick that up," Penelope suggested. Blair wasn't planning on it. But then when the other girls laughed not at her but at Penelope she lost her nerve. "And go sit over there," She pointed at the spot beside Hazel.

"I don't think so."

"Kat," Penelope smiled at the petite Asian girl.

"I think you should sit over there," Kat narrowed her eyes and Blair didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She didn't need this right now. Then again, that's probably why Penelope used that moment to attack. She should have fed that girl to the wolves a year back. Blair shifted in her heels.

"We're under new management," Penelope dropped the truth at last.

"You?" Blair's reproach was automatic.

"At least she cares about us," Kat shot back.

"Penelope?"

"Have you seen William around lately?" Penelope asked knowingly. William was the waiter Katy had met at New Years. The waiter that had turned out to be heir, the boy Katy had sworn was the love of her life.

"He was 5'5"; I couldn't see him even when I was looking for him."

"He dumped me," Kat admitted, almond eyes misting over the truth.

"I'm sorry."

"Nice try," Penelope interrupted. "But if you were really sorry then you'd have been here for her."

"_I've been busy_," Blair shot at the newly elected leader.

"Chasing after Chuck Bass," Penelope shot back. "That's not busy, that's pathetic."

"I'm not..."

"Oh don't even try." Penelope grabbed at her old fashioned pearls and twisted. She was winning, and her smile grew with each entanglement. "You've been mooning over him for months and completely ignoring your duties to us."

"I..."

"Let me spell it out for you. You have been yearning for a rapist."

"He didn't have anything to do with Jenny. He was trying to help...' Blair began the refrain that entire school knew. Even Gossip Girl had posted her own retraction.

"Please," Penelope arched that brow again. "_It's Chuck_!"

"You don't know..."

"And he followed it up with what? A trip to rehab? Definitely a winner!"

Blair tried to offer another retort but her mind wouldn't cooperate. All she wanted to do was defend Chuck but doing so seemed to dig the hole larger.

"We think that someone who shows such bad judgement. Well, she's not fit to lead us."

"But you are?" Blair put her chin out, waited for one of the other girls to disagree. They didn't.

"Let's go," Penelope pushed Blair's bag away with her toe, grabbed her own and led the procession out.

Blair didn't turn to watch them go. She didn't say anything as they walked away. She just stared at the three empty seats with a frightening sense of deja vu.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stared at the window in the counsellor's office. It was thick leaded glass like the rest, as small as old fashioned glass tended to be. You could barely catch a view but Chuck wasn't looking beyond the glass. He was studying the patterns of water. It was raining outside, a steady downpour that created a waterfall effect on the pane. It reminded Chuck of Dr. Sherman and the elaborate waterfall in the main office. It was supposed to be calming and if there was any feeling Chuck needed right now then it was tranquility. He couldn't be calm and serene. Today was the day he dreaded more than any other but it was also one he had chosen. It was paradoxical. He'd chosen Clayton House not just for their excellent tutors, for the teen nature of the program, not only for the view of Yale. He'd chosen Clayton House because they specialized in dual diagnosis cases. He knew he'd get the truth.

But the funny thing was when the truth came he didn't want to hear it. He couldn't look at the doctor and only spoke when he hesitated awkwardly. Chuck told him to continue and kept up his own study, watched the tiny rivers of rain push down and fall to nothing. He heard the doctor's insistence that diagnosis ought not to be attempted for at least a year following withdrawal. He rambled on about brain chemistry, familial precedence and other stuff that Chuck really didn't care to hear. He was waiting for the words. When they came he felt his future fall along with the water. There was a glossy pamphlet. Chuck took one glance at it and chuckled mirthlessly. It never left the desk. His eyes went back to the window. The drug information sheet was next. He couldn't laugh that off. "How long do I have to take them for?"

"Charles," the doctor began in a soft tone and Chuck hated him for it. "This is not the stomach flu or an inner ear infection. There is no magic pill to clear this in a few weeks."

"How long?" Chuck asked. He could feel his eyelids twitch, the slow clutching in his chest that proved he already knew the answer.

"This is something that needs to be managed for the rest of you life. You may always..."

Chuck didn't wait for the doctor to finish. He was out of the chair at _rest_, barely registering the _always_ that so logically followed. The counsellor did his best to make him stay, called his name and tried to say something. Chuck didn't care to hear him. He was down the hall before the doctor was out of his chair. It was darker than it had been when he had entered and Chuck was tempted to just walk right out: To find the sun, transverse the full mile until he ended in New Haven. He could try to find one dream while the others broke away forever.

He nearly ran his roommate over. The boy put a hand out but Chuck rushed right by it. He said something too but Chuck was fixated on the far exit door. He likely would have made it there but he could feel the tears building, the slow crawl of tension that spread everywhere, from the apex of his shoulders to the middle of his stomach. There was no way he was crying in broad daylight, before his fellow patients. So he detoured to the boy's hall, entered his own bedroom, pushed further into the bathroom and slammed the door. He had it locked before he fell. The room was slowly spinning but Chuck couldn't figure out if it was a panic attack, the force of his tears or something else. So he just sat back, pressed his head against the door and tried not to consider the other times life had found him in that predicament.

He never thought he'd prefer to be an alcoholic but he did. It was logical, could be reasoned to a mathematical formula. The diagnosis was uncomplicated. Alcoholics had trouble with drinking. The solution was as simple. An alcoholic needed not to drink. The answer was in the number zero which had always been Chuck's favourite. He'd always taunted his father to add more zeros. Bart had associated it with making more money but at five years old Chuck had just been in love with the perfect circle formed by that number. He never outgrew his affection for it. He could have spent his entire life chasing zero in his consumption. It was simple. Zero meant success; any other number meant he had failed. There was no simple equation for this. This was complicated, unpredictable and unmanageable. He knew that. He'd lived it firsthand. It didn't matter how many shiny white pills they threw down his throat. They hadn't helped her. Chuck wish he'd never asked the question because now he was never going to be able to pretend that he was _just an alcoholic _again.

The doctor knocked on his door but Chuck didn't answer. He'd pulled his knees harder to his chest, pressed his eyelids to them until it hurt. He cried fully but it didn't help. The entire feeling was too overwhelming. He felt entirely hopeless. It took twenty minutes of outright despair before Chuck realized he couldn't handle this alone. Sebastian was lying on the bed when Chuck finally opened the door. He could have been concerned but the playful smirk on his face didn't push to that conclusion. The cigarette he offered in one hand might of. "I need your phone," Chuck asked with an absent brush as his wet cheeks.

"Only between the hours of 6 and 8, you know the rules." Sebastian chastised his roommate lightly, waved his hand again to offer the alternate.

"I know how you like to bend them." Chuck reminded the blonde and Sebastian couldn't help but smirk wider. He tossed his special blend to the side table and offered the phone instead. "Would you mind," Chuck said with a deliberate look at the door. Sebastian might have argued that point once but this time he took to the floor and disappeared without comment.

Chuck punched the ten digit code he'd memorized the year before. He waited through the longer dial tone, the three rings that ended with his brother's voice. "Hello?" The voice was uncertain and Chuck knew it was the unfamiliar name. The moment he intoned his own greeting Eric's voice changed, words rushed so fast that Chuck had to concentrate to keep up. There were a dozen questions ending with the fundamental "how are you?"

"Honestly," Chuck began with a deep breath. "Not well and I really need someone to talk to about it."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – I hope you are all proud of Chuck :) _

_SkySamuelle – Sebe isn't meant for Vanessa (he'd a bit young for her anyway)_

_Roswell Dream Girl – I can promise that Chuck will have no romantic feelings for any other girl. Does that help?_

_Gglover – Sebastian is more like understanding Eric but he's mostly like our protagonist._

_Bellakatalina – I'm glad, hopefully you'll be satisfied only at the end ;)_

_Oc-Journey – Chuck will descibe it in details when he first sees it. Think the reverse of what it was before._

_BrittyKay – Chuck will be much better when he gets out. It won't be steadily upward but they'll be very few stumbles the rest of the way_

_Princetongirl – thanks_

_Annablake – Chuck is going to tell us what she wrote (what they all wrote) when he gets back. Bart is going to need an intermediary to get Chuck and likewise. I'm going to give him one though. 1-2 more postings and you'll see who that is._

_Court – yeah, poor Nate :p_

_Tiff – he's in love ;)_

_Up Next – Blair gets some good news to balance the bad. Chuck bends the rules until they break and ends himself in the Southern wing._


	37. Chapter Fourteen Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Fourteen – Part Two**

Blair pulled her feet beneath her, punched through her phone's history and considered. There had been a steady string of calls from Kat over the last couple weeks; she counted twenty-five separate chances. She hadn't called her back, she hadn't even thought to until Kat had stood and marched past her. What kind of friend was she? Maybe she deserved to be snubbed.

She ought to be planning Penelope's downfall but Blair couldn't bring herself to care. She was too exhausted, the last few months a ragging hurricane of emotions that had all but extinguished her more formidable sides. She preferred to pass her evenings with her closer friends; perhaps she'd just outgrown the rest? Or maybe she was just too tired to scheme today. She laid her phone on the bed and picked up the Eleanor Waldorf original that lay beside it. It was the first time she'd worn one of her mother's designs since the accident. It was from her spring show, it could have been the last but Eleanor had finished her sketches for the summer show before her death. They had enough to carry on through that, beyond had yet to be decided.

Blair smoothed her waist once it was on, stared at herself in the mirror and tried to hold back the tears. It was a bright blue dress that fell to just above knee, bunched at one side and exploded into ruffles at the other. The top was tighter, herring boned through the waist and ending in two wide straps. She had chosen this day to wear her mother's dress because her father had promised that it would be an important one.

"Blair," Harold Waldorf stuck his head into the bedroom. "You're late for dinner."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck pushed his body off the railing at Clayton House, hiked his feet up the wood and smiled at his bunkmate. He took just one more drag on his cigarette before he started counting. "Three, two, one," Chuck raised his eyes just in time for the bang and the resulting yelling from Deborah.

God," Sebastian managed despite his laughing. "Living for life's small pleasures!"

Chuck just smirked wider as Sebastian stole a quick glance in the window. Chuck didn't need to look; he knew exactly what was happening. He was the cherry bomb expert after all.

Sebastian stood on the trim of the house to get a better look and put his ear to the open window to get a better hearing. "God! You blew up the _whole_ toilet."

"It usually does," Chuck said almost calmly.

"You are so going to get busted for that," Sebastian swore as he jumped back down. He crossed the small space and stood again beside his bunkmate.

Chuck broke his smirk only to breath in more nicotine air. "Why?" He said with equal calm. "I'm the model patient."

Sebastian had to consider that. It was true. Aside from his usual drag at group, Chuck was the dream patient. He spoke openly at individual therapy, did all his journalling, all his schoolwork and more, and followed the rules without complaint. He supposed it was poignant; the one place Chuck could excel was rehab. "You might just be one of the best roommates I've had," Sebastian decided. "Now give me a cigarette." Chuck acquiesced and Sebastian grabbed another spot on the thick pine railing.

Chuck had been gone only a week but in that week the days had turned warmer or maybe Connecticut was warmer than New York ever could be. The branches were no longer bare, buds of leaves starting to fill in what would be soon be lush green. The ceramic boxes were lined with flowers, more stem than colour but that was coming, they were budding already. He could see it in nature, that great moment of anticipation as if something great was about to be realized.

"I love spring," Sebastian put his thoughts to words. "The sun and the wind."

Chuck smiled at the thought.

"It's just warm enough for the girls to sport those short skirts and just windy enough for them to get pushed up right."

Chuck followed the other boy's eyes, to a pair of female patients huddling under a tree to catch a cigarette. So maybe it was a bit early for the tennis skirts but Chuck wasn't complaining. They were trying to hold the edge of their skirts with one hand and a cigarette with the other. It wasn't very successful. Every gust of wind crept their skirts more upward along with Chuck's eyebrows. Maybe spring could grow other things than flowers.

"I heard there's a social on Friday night," Sebastian raised his own brow in contemplation.

"I'm going to be out on Friday evening."

"You're going out?" Sebastian dropped in shock. "How?"

"I have to go to Yale," Chuck explained. "Dean Baraby spoke with the head doctor here. I only have a conditional acceptance to Yale and one of those conditions includes publicity. They want me to have some photos taken."

"And Clayton House letting you do this?"

"I have to," Chuck admitted. "Besides, I'm the model patient."

"What you are is a lucky bastard," Sebastian took an extra long drag on his cigarette.

"If I'm back in time then I'll come," Chuck promised with another look at the blonde and brunette.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Waldorf dining table had been filled to capacity. Blair was surrounded by her closest friends and their families. Serena sat beside her mother, Eric beside her. Harold had made a point of including his boyfriend, the approval automatic. Bart sat beside Damien, the lack of that man's son the only true absence in the table. Nate sat on her other side, his parents filing to his side. The rest of the table included the likes of Penelope, Hazel, Kat and Is. She should have informed her father of the changes on that count but then again, she hadn't told Serena yet. Even Cyrus had come, bringing his youngest son Aaron in tow. Cyrus continued to help her with Waldorf Designs, tried to get the paperwork in order for sale or dissolution. Blair had yet to decide.

At the head of their table was Harold Waldorf. He was dressed in a three piece suit that seemed to glow along with him. Roman was beside him. The younger man had taken residence at the Waldorf home shortly after Harold. Blair supposed she should have been offended for her mother's sake. She wasn't though. She could see and understand the affection those two shared. It wasn't the mistaken lust she originally assumed. Despite the age difference, Roman was only turning thirty this year while her father was closer to fifty; the two seemed to work in some strange way. That's why when Harold dinged his glass, chime quieting all talk at the table, Blair had a pretty good idea what was coming. She also knew why it was a circle of her friends rather than her father's. He couldn't be sure how she would react.

"I have the pleasure of announcing," Her father began with a look down the table. He met each of their guests' eyes, holding only Blair's before proceeding up. "That Roman and I have decided to get married."

Blair was startled despite the expectation. It was just hearing the words, seeing the look that her father shared with his lover. Her parent's divorce was something she had always struggled to put behind her, but something in that look helped. Blair took a deep breath and stared down the table. Not all the faces were happy and Blair didn't expect them to be. Harold likely hadn't either. This turn of events would create as many potholes for her as fill them over. She could pinpoint those families opposed but was thankful none were in the grouping she cared about. She might have doubted Bart at one point, but living as a stepfather to Eric had changed him. She kept her eyes moving and when they caught on Cyrus she felt something pull inside. The man's eyes were misting over and she understood why. His own wedding day had come and gone. That thought made her eyes haze over as well.

"Are you alright?" Nate asked with a touch of her hand. It was a reasonable question. She had hated Roman every day they had dated. It wasn't like that now.

"I'm better than okay," Blair smiled at her former boyfriend, gave his hand a contented squeeze of reassurance. When she looked back to the front she could see her own father's uncertainty evaporate with her brilliant grin.

"So when is the wedding?" Lily asked. It figures. She'd be the one.

"We're aiming for the beginning of June. Roman has a photo shoot shortly thereafter. We're going to hold it at Cyrus' town home in Montreal."

Blair stared at her could have been stepfather. Then she knew. His tears weren't just for himself. Cyrus was fond of love in general. She also knew why it was in Montreal. Her father couldn't legally marry here.

"It will just be a small ceremony," Harold promised. "Only friends," He finished with a pointed look down the table. They wouldn't all be there. Penelope looked like the cat that had caught the canary when the Coates and Farkas made their exit. Kat's mother was traditional Chinese and the Coates were just generally conservative. Blair couldn't bring herself to care until Penelope's smile spread wider. Then there was a surge of some of the former Blair. She had the motivation to defeat Penelope and she would. Just not right now.

She was too busy debating colour choices with Serena and Lily. She didn't stop to draw air until Bart's phone broke through. It wasn't surprising. Bart's phone rang all the time. She wouldn't have even noticed it except Bart greeted Ms. Queller rather than a shareholder or secretary. That had her turning in her chair. Blair's eyes followed Bart's as they left, traced his path around the table and out the door. She'd have followed him, or listened at the door if there wasn't another twenty guests to watch her.

Bart spoke with Ms. Queller as he walked to the side room, sought some quiet to really focus on what she was saying. "Did you receive the essay Chuck wrote?" He asked. Chuck had been required to write a thirty page essay about his actions towards Dan. It should have warranted expulsion but everyone had heard what Dan said first. Even Rufus Humphrey had preached lenience once he knew.

"Yes," Ms. Queller answered. "But it came with a special request. I thought I should discuss that with you."

Bart sat back as she did, one long leg crossing, uncrossing and then recrossing over the other. By the time she'd finished Bart was speechless. "He did that?" He asked for some confirmation and when it came Bart stood straight up. "I'm sure there's a misunderstanding," Bart swore and ended the call. For a moment he just stared into the room's sole fireplace, already lit despite the room's planned emptiness.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The next morning found Chuck lain across his bed, history text opened beside his notebook. He wrote the vocabulary word in red, the definition in green. He had a whole collection of pens, red for key words and people, green for definitions, purple for dates and blue for general notes. It was Blair's method and one she had passed along at the beginning of senior year. He'd gained more from their study sessions than the happy ending. Across from him Sebastian was trying to struggle through a copy of All Quiet on the Western Front. Chuck considered helping him. Bart had sat Chuck down and helped him through the themes and history of the novel. Chuck could still remember most of his father's explanation but somehow remembering that had Chuck turning back to his own page instead. Chuck would help him when Sebastian hit Algebra.

"Chuck Bass!" Deborah's voice yelled at entrance. Chuck looked up to see the nurse staring at his floor. He knew why. The staff didn't need to draw a line between Sebastian and Chuck's sides of the room, there was a logical division where spotless met disaster. Chuck's books, which had started out nicely stacked, now dangled across his desk, two in danger of falling into the mess on the floor. The carpet was covered with papers, books and even a few pairs of pants. His bed, well, Chuck was sure he'd made it the first morning he was here. "We don't have maid service here!"

"I'll take care of it," Chuck promised, eyed his bunkmate's hospital corners as Deborah left.

"What?" Sebastian asked as Chuck stared.

"Think you could clean the entire room? I'll pay you 50$ a day."

Sebastian laughed as he shook his head. "How would you learn to be self-reliant?"

"Come on," Chuck tried with what could have been a whine. "$75?"

"How about I pay you $100 to do it yourself?"

Chuck eyed his own disaster in resignation. He stared at the leaning tower of books, the random papers that had been scribbled on and then found their way to the floor. That was just the start. Chuck didn't know where to begin. He had never lived without maid service. He even paid the upper floor maid to clean his locker once a term. He was wandering in uncharted territory.

"I could show you how to make a bed," Sebastian suggested.

They managed only that by the time the door opened. Chuck stuffed three novels into a drawer in time to meet his father's eyes. Bart eyed the mess, arched one brow but didn't say a thing. He didn't need to. The twitch of disapproval was enough to stab. That was the problem. There was such precedence that Bart didn't even need to say anything anymore and what he did say, it didn't seem to matter.

"Can I speak with you?" Bart asked.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena knew it had finally happened when she got home. Lily tilted her head to Eric's bedroom, the pleading woven through blue eyes. When Serena reached the room she saw her brother attempting to unpack the first of seven boxes that crowded his floor. He was grabbing at shirts and tossing them into an opened drawer. It was complete chaos, sleeves untucked and tossed at random. It wasn't typical Eric. That boy was nearly as organized as Blair.

"You need to stop," Serena tried first but her brother kept throwing. He didn't say a thing until she put a hand to his arm and forced him to stop.

"I don't want to move," Eric said. "I like it here."

"You know that's not possible."

"I don't want it to be just mom and I again."

"I'll be there," Serena promised.

"For how long?" Eric asked. "In the fall you'll either be at Brown or on location. I'll be the only one left."

Serena didn't know what to say to that, so she just gave her brother's arm a little squeeze.

"Do you know how bad it was without you?" Eric asked. "Mom is gone all the time and when she is there it's mostly on the arm of the next potential husband."

"Maybe you'll get lucky," Serena teased. 'She'll marry Rufus and you'll have Jenny as a bunkmate."

Eric laughed at his sister's poor excuse at humour. The chuckle didn't last long, barely lifted his lips before they fell downward again. "But I _liked_ this family."

"That's what this is really about, isn't it?"

"I just thought we would be here when Chuck got back."

"You know that..."

"No one asked me. It's not what I would have wanted."

"Me too," Serena admitted with another squeeze. "But we'll still be there for him, just not here for him. Besides, Chuck isn't coming back to the Palace anyway. His stuff is already at the townhouse."

"I know," Eric pressed a hand to his face. "I just..." His voice hitched and Serena saw just how much this was upsetting her younger brother. She wrapped him in her arms, wound her slender frame to his lanky one, and let him cry if he needed to. They stayed that way for a time; Serena both softened and strengthened by her brother's genuine emotion. There was a time he would have bottled it all up. He had definitely changed from that insecure and scared little boy.

"He'll call you when he gets back," Serena reassured him. "You're the only one he's called so far."

"I know," Eric agreed. He touched his cheeks and blushed embarrassingly at the fact that he had cried.

"So," Serena's eyes went mischievous as her brother recovered himself. "What _did_ Chuck say when he called?"

"I can't violate his confidence," Eric said and Serena knew he wouldn't. Blair had tried first. "But," Eric arched a brow. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised when he gets back."

"Did he apologize?"

"It wasn't that," Eric admitted. "It was the conversation in general. He was honest, reflective, insightful, sensitive even."

"Really?" Serena tried to reconcile that with her understanding of Chuck Bass. She supposed he had his moments before. He had consolled her once or twice after all.

"Trust me," Eric smiled at his sister. "If that conversation was anything to go by, you're going to meet a whole new Chuck Bass in two weeks."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was reclined against the pine railing same as the day before. Another cigarette dangled between his lips, his feet kicked at the same wooden pillars. The only difference was the emotion. He didn't feel amused, relaxed or even content. That's when he knew he was doing the right thing. He felt nervous, distressed and tyrannized. He supposed it was progress that he could name each emotion.

His counsellor was a doctor named Jed. They insisted on going by first names at Clayton House. It was part of the informal atmosphere that teens were supposed to respond to. Jed kept going back to the same question. What was Chuck going to do to prevent relapse. That was a big topic here. They had two evening groups on it every week. Not the small, sharing group that he had to go to daily but a whole centre presentation. They brought in former graduates of the program, the ones who had gone on successfully. They talked a lot about the changes they made in their life to allow them to live sober. The refrain was always the same, discover your triggers and figure out how to avoid them.

"Ms. Queller told me about your plans," Bart offered.

Chuck shook his head angrily. It figured. "And?"

"You don't have to leave New York."

"I want to," Chuck said without turning his head. His dad had made a lot of flowery speeches since the first visit. Some were downright beautiful but they didn't change the fundamental problem. Chuck still went straight back to his room and smoked up. He's not sure he woudn't do worse if it was available to him. Of all the people or situations that lead him to drink or use drugs, his father was the primary. Bart Bass was his biggest trigger.

"Don't you think it's a bit extreme?" Bart suggested and Chuck felt his eyebrow twitch. It wasn't even an insult but it felt close enough to one. "There is less than three months left in the school year."

"I'm finishing by correspondence," Chuck reminded his father. It's not like he was starting in a new school. He was just registering at St. Georges to use their facility. He was finishing at St. Judes by distance.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Chuck was convinced it was better than the alternative. He could have got a place in New York but he imagined it would take over 2000 miles to truly divide the two. "It's what I want."

"Why?"

"Because it's better for me."

"We have a perfectly fine house," Bart tried again. "I am willing to do anything I need to," He promised.

There was a time Chuck would have loved to hear those words. It was just a little too late now. "I'm not going back to New York," Chuck flipped his cigarette from the patio as he pushed off the rail. "And you can't make me." He finished as he walked away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was shocked to watch her best friend sit below the rest of their clique. She'd missed the last few days of school for the move and Blair hadn't exactly been forthcoming about it. She slapped a hand to Blair's back, nearly spilling the smaller girl's yogurt. Blair knew what was coming when she turned. She saw how wide her best friend's eyes were, the way her head angled forward in search of the truth. "What?" She tried to whisper through the divide.

"What is going on?" Serena whispered right back.

"It's nothing important," Blair swore and Serena's eyes tripled from their original doubling in size.

"So Blair," Penelope started in her best aristocratic voice (faked mostly). "I guess you must be so excited about your dad's wedding."

"Who's wearing the dress?" Kat asked with a matching smile.

"Excuse me!" Serena nearly launched across the cement steps at the insult. She would have if Blair hadn't pulled her back. "What?" Serena whispered while Blair spooned her yogurt.

Blair leaned over, eyes knitting closer together. "Pick your battles," She whispered into her best friend's ear.

"It's wonderful," Penelope continued. "Now she'll have someone to coordinate outfits with. Since Chuck is leaving and all."

"Excuse me," Blair snapped straighter at that.

"Moving to Canada," Penelope's smile spread with Blair's shock.

"Not possible." Serena cut in because Blair wasn't able to speak.

"Apparently Nelly Yuki overheard the secretaries talking. They're transferring a copy of his files to St. George's school in Vancouver." Hazel picked up where Penelope left off. "He's doing the rest of year by correspondence."

"I imagine it'll be all over Gossip Girl by the end of the day," Penelope finished with a slanting grin.

Blair wasn't even listening by that point. Her fingers were flying over the keys to her phone. She was texting the information to Eric.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Where are we going?" Sebastian asked as they wound the first corner. They climbed a set of stairs, moved further from the main living room to the storage space above. Sebastian didn't really need to know. After the cherry bomb incident Chuck's roommate had relayed all his secret hiding places. Chuck knew exactly where to go to avoid the spot checks. He just had yet to actually do it.

But this wasn't escaping group. This was an entirely different diversion. Chuck pulled a set of playing cards out of his pocket once they reached the greying door. It used to be the janitor's room but they'd moved that downstairs. Now it was an empty room far from the rest. Chuck passed them to his bunkmate as he opened the door. "We're playing poker?" Sebastian guessed. They usually did. It didn't require sneaking away. It wasn't until Chuck pointed into the room that Sebastian's smile grew. Inside was a table and sitting at that table were the blonde and brunette from outside. "You're the best roommate ever!" Sebastian cried out.

He repeated the refrain when they were ten hands in with barely a loss. Chuck had removed only his tie, shirt unbuttoned but that was more the work of the brunette beside him than defeat. She ran her fingertips along his stomach, much flatter since he'd rediscovered running with Nate. The girl traced his rib cage up and down, mouth affixed permanently to his ear. She wrapped her thumb along the length of his gold chain, twisted and pulled him closer to her.

They were the only two left sitting at the table and Chuck was the only one still playing at cards. Sebastian and the blonde were hiding in one corner, playing at something else instead. He dealt them out, flipping cards from one side of the table to the other. He turned his and the brunette's. He had two pairs to her single. "I think you should lose that skirt now," He whispered against her mouth, ran two fingers around her waist to start the zipper downward. She wiggled from it before his eyes; coy smile all but disappeared now that she stood in only her underwear.

"Next hand?" The brunette said and it's the way she did. Her eyes arching to match her lips, a finger hooked beneath her own bra.

Chuck didn't know why he was hesitating. Okay that's not entirely true. He had some idea. Chuck had never had sex sober in his life, not even when he was younger. He'd always had some alcohol in his body, or baring that, enough of a hangover to make it feel like he was still drunk. That's why he lit that cigarette first, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke upward.

"Chuck!" His roommate yelled about thirty seconds too late. The fire alarm was sounding before Sebastian could warn him. The alarm in that room had been set particularly sensitive; to stop the unauthorized smoking that had become a problem.

Chuck looked up in time to see the spray of water, the sprinkler system setting off with a burst. It soaked what was left of his clothing within minutes. The water pooled in his hair, ran so quickly down his face that Chuck had to blink to see. The nurses were in the room before Chuck could even stand; Sebastian tried to pull his shirt on but only managed one arm prior to the shriek.

"Chuck Bass!"

Chuck winced at the sound, grabbed at his tie and threw it halfhazardly over his head. He couldn't button his shirt before the orderly had him by the arm. He pulled him up from the chair.

"We're headed South," Sebastian yelled into the roof, same orderly pushing him from behind.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – I just wanted to thank everyone for their lovely reviews and support as we're nearly at 400 reviews. I'm glad that people are still enjoying the story despite it's rather dark themes._

_Blair S. – Yippee, another new reader :) You're going to see a bit of the Blair-Eric friendship (and there was a couple hints at it this chapter) Chuck isn't going to be a rock star but he is going to sing to someone else before the end and he is going to have another profession before he becomes CEO of Bass._

_BrittyKay – thanks ;)_

_Lucy – I dont mind SN. I just find them boring as a couple to write about. _

_Ggxxlover – what happened to Chuck is that they wanted to start him on Prozac. I'm not sure if you've read YCFYF. But in this series canon Misty had bipolar and killed herself by throwing herself off the Brooklyn Bridge when he was 11. (sorry if I ruined that story for anyone who hadn't read YCFYF) That's why it scared him so much._

_Roswell Dream Girl – I know you really want for B to be the one to help him and be there for him. She is going to get her chance. If you can wait just two more posts then I think you'll be happy on that count. _

_Oc-Journey – I'm sorry I didn't include the Eric conversation either. It'll all come out but I just wanted to show that Chuck was improving by reaching out. The details will fill in later._

_Annablake – I agree that judgemental was the wrong word. In fact once you pointed it out I hated it so much that I went and changed it to unempathetic. That's the feeling I was looking for. BTW, your take on the bipolar issue is entirely right (as always)._

_Tiff – thanks :)_

_Ingridmarie – yeah Chuck does have a lot to deal with. He's also got a lot of people there for him though._

_Courtney – I'd like to but Chuck is in Conneticut and Blair is in New York. Once Chuck gets back to NY you're going to have so much CB interaction that you'll get sick of them. C will be in NY by the end of Chapter 15 btw. Let's just say this. Did anyone remember a little throw off from YCFYF. When Chuck was 14 he ran away to live with aunt and uncle. He refused to move back until someone convinced him he should ;)_

_Up Next – Chuck gets more than one frightening wake up call, Blair confronts Bart and her words spurn him into some interesting actions, Chuck makes his trip to Yale._


	38. Chapter Fifteen

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Fifteen **

_April 8 2009_

_Did I ever tell you about the time that Chuck was fourteen and ran away from home? Chuck was industrious even then. He managed to circumvent the rules for travelling unchaperoned, forge his dad's signature so that he could travel across the full length of the continent. He was angry with his father which was strange because Chuck didn't usually get angry with Bart. They never got along well but Chuck usually responded to the elder man's perfectionist expectations with a kind of resigned hopelessness._

_I never really understood what had happened between them until Eric told me about the overdose. Now I think it was probably that. They all tried to get him to come back. Bart flew first before calling on Nate. He should have thought better. Nate might have been Chuck's best friend but the boy had all the bite of a neutered Chihuahua. Serena had tried too. I hadn't wanted to at first. Do you know why? When I talked to him on the phone he sounded so happy. He really enjoyed living with his Aunt Katie and Uncle Jack. _

_I think when I flew there it was more for me. I think I missed him more than he missed any of us. He was doing well. He'd been there for nearly a month by then, even registered in a local school. I didn't even set out to convince him to come home. I just wanted to see him, talk to him, and see if he was truly as happy as he sounded. In a lot of ways he was. It wasn't until the second night that something changed my mind. It was when he asked about Bart. It was said casually but that casualness didn't run right through. He really wanted to know how his dad was. _

_That's the thing. No matter everything that has happened between them, and even though it would probably be easier for all involved if they did just go there separate ways, Chuck really loves his dad. I used to doubt Bart on that point, but the older man's affection has become pretty clear._

_Blair Waldorf_

Chuck couldn't remember when he had started smoking. It was strange. He could remember everything else. He distinctly remembered his first drink. He and Nate had been five years old, at one of Chuck's parents' dinner parties. They'd hidden under the tablecloth of the elaborate buffet, played war with a set of cards they'd found and shared someone else's glass of scotch. Chuck thought he was the one to suggest it but he couldn't be sure. It might have been Nate but history dictated it was more than likely him. He was the kid that flung sand in the sandbox, threw hissy fits that brought everyone else to tears, and straight out refused to share. Maybe that meant it was Nate. If it was Chuck he wouldn't have shared. What he did remember was how angry his parents were when they discovered the two, little bodies drunk on one shared glass. His father had yelled and his mother had cried. It was a pretty good indication of the next six years.

There was only one pleasure on the Southern wing and that was you could smoke freely. The reason for that was not so pleasurable. The Southern wing was a locked wing, kept separate from the rest of the manor house. It was the first stage for a patient at Clayton House, the place most entered high and stayed until they were stable enough to focus on something other than physical symptoms. Chuck had managed to bypass it altogether. He thought it had been a stroke of luck but now he understood why. The patients here scared the hell out of him. The head had split him and Sebastian. Sebe was down the hall to the left and Chuck was placed with a crystal meth case. Sebastian said they did it on purpose. The whole nature of their punishment involved showing you what you could become. They tried to freak you out and, in Chuck's case, it was working.

Perhaps it was cliché but Chuck had always associated drugs as part of a glamorous lifestyle. It was hard to accept that after Martin. The kid had scratched little red holes into his own arms and face, never mind the seven hour space outs or erratic mood shifts. Chuck didn't go into that room until lights out forced him to. Instead he stayed by on the central sofa, chain smoked with his usual roommate. He tried to keep his eyes from anything unpleasant but it was hard to do. Sebastian matched his nicotine consumption but he was more relaxed. By the second day that started to bother Chuck. "How can it not affect you?" Chuck finally asked.

"I've been desensitized," Sebastian admitted through his haze of smoke. "I've lived a third of my treatment here."

"Have you done it?"

"What?"

"Meth, like Martin." Chuck wasn't ignorant. He watched his roommate board the NA bus while he climbed to the AA one.

"God no!" Sebastian guaranteed. "Crystal Meth is the only drug to scare even me!"

"Heroin?" Chuck hoped not. Those kids were nearly as bad.

"I'm saving heroin for my last blaze of glory," Sebastian promised.

"Then what do you do?" Chuck asked and the other boy went strangely quiet. Part of Chuck expected it. Sebastian could wind a thousand tales, mingle adjectives with adverbs, train the ear to fables and follies but that was all. Approach the who, what, where, when, why or how of his reason for being here and the boy stopped talking altogether. "Nevermind," Chuck said with another drag.

"I didn't use drugs until after my first stint at rehab," Sebastian admitted instead. "My parents threw me into the Florida Recovery Center for Troubled Youth at twelve, after a really bad case of alcohol poisoning. That's where I learned about drugs."

Chuck took a deep breath at the thought.

"I'm just waiting for that moment," Sebastian finished. "That moment of desperation. I've seen it in others. I've seen lots of people come and go. I can tell who will be back for a second or third time. You can always tell the serious ones. They have this kind of abject desperation. You need that to get better. Happiness doesn't work in places like this."

"And what do you think I have?"

Sebastian took a long look at his bunkmate, took a drag on his cigarette and shrugged his shoulders.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun had crested and dipped behind Bart, his usually sunlight office reduced to lamp light. He had to get work done. He'd spent the last three days trying to solve the problem of Chuck. If he didn't focus on Bass Industries then there wasn't going to be anything for Chuck to move home to anyway. He worked quickly, scanned papers and wrote reports. It was second nature to him and far more comforting than solving the conundrum that was his only child. The secretary was in his office when the door opened. She had a portfolio laid out, various structural and architectural drawings for a row of Ocean view housing.

"You're sending him to a foreign country?" Blair spat at the older man as she entered, secretary staring in shock. No one had ever seen Bart Bass addressed in such a manner. The secretary's jaw dropped further when she, rather than the teenage girl, was ushered out.

"Blair, this isn't..."

"Are you that embarrassed?"

"No," Bart insisted in such a strong tone that Blair halted her attack. "This doesn't have anything to do with me."

Blair snorted, she couldn't help herself.

"Chuck owns a townhouse in Vancouver and is choosing to relocate there."

"After one of your pep talks?" Blair asked.

"I don't want this," Bart insisted. "I just can't talk him out of it."

That seemed to deflate the brunette's anger or at least redirect it. "You're his father; you should be able to..."

"He's not a child anymore," Bart pointed out. "I can't force him to do anything he doesn't wish to."

"Then you need to figure something else out," Blair pressed forward. "You know this is a stupid choice that he's making."

"I have tried Blair. He doesn't care."

"So try harder. You need to figure something out."

"I..."

"You're CEO of the biggest corporation in New York," Blair waved at the office. "Figure it out."

Bart shook his head in agreement but it didn't really reassure him. Blair didn't stay longer, she had said her piece. Bart tried to turn back to the papers on his desk, attempted to focus on his latest acquisition but it was beyond his reasoning. He was still too run up with agitation. He had tried so damn hard but his son's mind was made up. He wished Blair could understand that.

Except maybe he didn't understand it either. He pushed the papers aside and concentrated where his mind wanted to go, pushed through possible scenarios in his mind but they all came up fruitless. He flipped through his rolodex idly, tried to figure out who could help. It was then that he came across the name and the first surge of anticipation in nearly two days. He finally had a way of proceeding. He paged the secretary immediately, ordered her to have the Bass jet ready within an hour.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had never been so happy to be institutionalized as the hour they let Sebastian and he return to their regular room. He tossed his carry bag on the floor, chose his bed to fall onto. He was exhausted. He'd barely slept in the three nights he'd bunked with Martin the meth case. "They must really like you," Sebastian explained as he tossed his own bag to the side. "They usually keep people there for a week."

"I have to go to Yale tomorrow," Chuck reminded his bunkmate. They'd changed the photo shoot to the morning. It was one small thing to be thankful for.

"They're still letting you?" Sebastian asked.

"It's only four hours," Chuck pointed out. "And I'm a voluntary committal."

"Still a lucky bastard." Sebastian decided as Chuck rolled over.

"Do you really want to leave?"

"No," Sebastian drawled sarcastically. "I was hoping to spend all my high school years incarcerated."

"Why don't you just get better then?"

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Just say no," Chuck repeated the familiar slogan.

"Ha ha," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could."

"Just try."

"It's like the last time, when they sent me to Kansas; they only did it because my mom grew up in Kansas. She swore that there were no drugs there. I guess I had to prove her wrong."

"How many times have you come and gone?" Chuck asked with a sudden need to know.

"What? Here? Or rehab in general?"

"Generally."

Sebastian looked to the roof and Chuck could see him counting. It was the way his eyes shook and then steadied. "This is my seventeenth go around."

"Seventeen?" Chuck repeated in outright shock. Sebastian gave a casual shrug of his shoulders, sat on his bed across the room. "Why can't you stay sober?"

"Because I have the absurd nickname of Sebe," The younger boy tried to laugh off the question. It didn't ring true and Sebastian was left hanging for a different answer. He kicked one foot over the other and thought long before speaking. "It's not the drugs," He admitted. "Who actually wants to be wasted all the time? It's how everything changes when you don't use them. All these stupid things change in subtle ways until you just want so badly for things to go back to normal, but you know they won't until you use again. It's realizing that dinner parties truly are dull, that your friends are a little stupider than you remembered and it's actually kind of scary to slip your hand up some unknown girl's skirt."

And that was the moment Chuck knew, that despite a week of debating it in his head, Sebastian wasn't like either Nathaniel or Eric. Sebastian was the mirror image of him. They had the same oversexed nature, same propensity for misadventure and the same style of self-preservation. _Sebastian was him_ or at least a version of what he could have turned into if Bart had chosen to commit him after the first overdose. That thought scared him as much as Martin the meth head.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart hesitated outside the whitewashed brick building. He'd opened the metal gate, climbed the small set of stairs in pitch black. It was nearly midnight and Bart was reconsidering knocking at this hour. He should find a hotel for the night and try again in the morning. Then he remembered he'd flown across the country to this precise end. Besides, she was young enough to still be up. So he knocked. When Lewis opened the door clad only in her pyjamas Bart realized the miscalculation. Then again, maybe a little payback was in order. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and Bart tried to keep his eyes from her legs. They stretched a mile from her tiny boxer shorts, taunt and toned...

"Bart Bass?" Lewis mumbled once her eyes could focus.

"Ms. Smith."

"Do you know what hour it is?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Now!" Lewis took a look at her wrist only to find it bare. She stared at the small mantle clock instead, tried to focus her tired eyes on the tiny numbers. "It's nearly midnight."

"I'm sorry..."

"I'm tired! I have my PhD defence in less than ten hours..." A high shrieked scream cut through the apartment on cue. "And my son is teething!"

Bart bounced on his feet. Okay so it was _probably_ a bad time but he had already assigned Lewis to be his last hope. So he threw out everything he had. "My son tried to kill himself."

That led to both a wave in and a sympathetic look before Lewis disappeared into the back. Bart tried to wait for her in the foyer but after fifteen minutes she was still gone and that kid didn't seem to be letting up. So he walked hesitantly through the rest of the small town home, stopped outside the boy's room and looked. Lewis was trying her best to comfort Aidan; she had him wrapped in her arms, hand brushing reassuringly at the mop of blonde hair. Bart knew it wouldn't work. He could remember when Chuck had cut his molars. He'd screamed for a month straight. "You should try some frozen peas," Bart suggested.

"He's not hungry," Lewis shot back.

"Not to eat! To rub on his cheek. Chuck used to like that."

Lewis arched a brow in distrust but still carried her son towards the kitchen. The toddler was clearly disgruntled at his lot in life, tiny fists clutching at his mother's shirt, face red with the force of his tears. She tried to open the freezer door but Aidan kept shifting in her arms, stopped her from performing the simplest of tasks.

"Would you like me to hold him?" Bart suggested.

Lewis just turned and glared. It was Bart Bass after all! The man was likely to drop him on his head.

"I know how to hold a baby you know," Bart pointed out. It's not like he didn't have a son of his own. Then again, maybe Lewis had a point.

Lewis gave him one last lingering, doubting look and begrudgingly handed her son over. When the full weight of the two year old hit, Bart remembered just how long it had been. He rocked the toddler back and forth, everything coming back on instinct. He ran a finger under the tap without thinking; put it in the young boy's mouth to chew. Aidan did so happily, drooling all over Bart's hand in the process. The elder Bass hardly noticed.

Lewis crushed a bag of peas against the counter, carried it to where Bart stood and held it against her son's swollen cheek. Aidan cried harder at the initial chill but once his skin had numbed along with the gums beneath the little boy calmed, tiny head falling against Bart's chest. Bart didn't even notice because he was far more bothered by the familiar citrus scent that Lewis brought as she drew close. When Lewis took Aidan away Bart was almost thankful for the distance. He watched her rub the toddler's back, kiss at his cheek and he remembered how simple things were at this age. All Chuck had wanted was his favourite fire truck, a new book or a smile and a hug. When did things get so complicated?

Bart followed Lewis back to the bedroom. He watched her give her son a kiss on the head. She tucked Aidan in, curling the blankets around his tiny body before turning on the nightlight. She preened and fussed, made sure her own son was positioned just right for the best nights sleep. "They're a lot easier at that age," Bart said as she finished. When Lewis finally turned away from the sleeping toddler there was a resignation in her eyes.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I'm not wearing those," Chuck said as the stylist held up a pair of jeans and a Yale sweatshirt. He was a slender man in his early forties, dusting of grey contrasting with the denim he wore. Chuck hadn't worn a pair of jeans in nearly a year and those were part of a disguise. The Yale sweatshirt looked a lot like the top of the Wal-Mart set he'd picked up on the road trip. It was all wrong. If they wanted to showcase Chuck Bass they really needed to do it the way he was.

"They want you to look like a student," The stylist said with a pointed look at his clothes.

Chuck stared down at his suit. He was wearing a yellow and tan stripped suit, plain white collared shirt beneath it. He looked perfectly fine. He looked like Chuck Bass. "What's wrong with this?"

"How about we compromise?" The stylist suggested in exasperation.

"As long as compromise doesn't include denim or sweats."

The stylist gave a huff of frustration at that. "Come with me," He marched towards the back room. It took nearly half an hour but the stylist managed to find something that didn't offend Chuck. He settled on a pair of black pants pinstriped through with grey. Chuck kept his own plain shirt on but layered it with a blue Yale sweater. Once the Y was sewn to wool rather than cotton Chuck decided he quite liked the logo. Around his neck was one familiar red chequered scarf. The stylist had tried to pull it off but Chuck had pulled back twice as hard. It had to stay. "Go get your hair washed," The stylist ordered once he was finally clothed.

"What's wrong with my hair?" Chuck asked. He'd spent extra time styling it that morning.

"You need to look like a university student!"

"Was I supposed to abandon all fashion sense at first admission?"

That led to another huff of frustration from the stylist and another suggestion of compromise by Chuck. He compromised his way through hair and make up. When he noticed the other supposed university students he realized the purpose of this little picture. In the room were represented some of the most powerful names in business and finance, or at least the next generation of them. There were three girls and one other boy, all sons or daughters of the wealthiest industrialists in North America and abroad. Dean Baraby might just have been brilliant.

Chuck checked his watch between frames. The set up was simple. They were spread out over the lawn, books provided to them and the Yale Apartments forming the backdrop. He grabbed a few snatches of conversation between shots, actually read a bit of the text he'd been provided with (it was on international trade) but mostly relaxed his face from all the forced smiling. His hair kept flopping in the slight morning breeze and he took it as proof of the need for gel. The stylist didn't agree.

They moved to one more location before they finished up, traded books for a few coffee cups and a smaller table. Chuck was starting to grow bored. The photographer bit at him when his eyes started to cloud over and the smile drooped. Then the girl beside slipped her hand into his lap and the smile returned on instinct. Her name was Ming Li Huang and she'd been hanging off him all morning. Her father was Wei Huang, the wealthiest man in Hong Kong until he had relocated his entire family to California. He should have reconsidered the decision after the reputation his daughter had accumulated. Chuck checked his watch after the last photograph. He had only twenty minutes to return on time. Then the girl whispered something in his ear and he was presented with a tempting alternative: return to Clayton House or prove Sebastian wrong.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart had woven the whole tale for her, explained every single moment that led to the present. He had provided the entire history through narrative, sheer size taking them well into the next morning. Lewis yawned into her tea cup before Bart finally reached the point of his journey. "My son is determined to move to Vancouver. It doesn't matter what I say or offer. He's dead set!"

"It's a bad choice," Lewis reflected Blair's earlier refrain.

"I know that." Bart repeated his. He took one deep breath and then offered what he'd come to. "I will pay you one million dollars to stay with him, to make sure that he's safe."

Lewis knew enough of Bart to know he'd pay. He'd probably pay two or three times that but it wouldn't help. "Your money isn't going to save him."

"Will you consider..."

"Neither will I."

"I just..."

"He likes me," Lewis admitted. "But he loves you!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

When it was done, Chuck was nearly two hours late returning to Clayton House. He watched the petite Asian shimmy back into her knee length skirt and smoked liberally in the dorm room. It was her room. They'd given it to her for the visit. His hand shook as he withdrew the cigarette, his brilliant plan of proving Sebastian wrong undone by the truth.

The bastard was right. Chuck's senses had always been dulled before; he'd always pushed through in a haze of sometimes drugs but more usually just alcohol. Without it everything was discomfortingly clear. His senses felt everything, an overwhelming twisting of touch, scent and taste that he'd only half experienced before. He felt fully creeped out, hid behind his cigarette smoke as he realized: there was nothing casual about sex!

Ming spun once she was reclothed, pushed back her thick black hair and smiled like a contented cat. At least he hadn't lost his skills along with his nerves. "You should come out with us tonight," She suggested. "We're heading up to Bar None."

Chuck took a longer drag and blew the smoke upward. "Can't...I have a place to be."

The girl shrugged her shoulders and started to brush out her hair.

Chuck took one more puff and then butted his cigarette on the side table. He buttoned his shirt and grabbed the phone from the side table. There were three calls from the intake officer. Chuck deleted them all. He had a place to be but it wasn't Clayton House. He was nothing like Sebastian. He'd find a way to deal that didn't involve drugs or alcohol. He would figure things out. He didn't need seventeen trips to rehab. He didn't even need this one.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The realization that Lewis wasn't in her bed the next morning didn't start with the heavy weight on top of her, the total absence of blankets or even the hard coffee table that one toe dangled on. Lewis realized she was on the couch once she felt the tiny felted buttons in the small of her back. She shifted only to feel the dead weight on top of her. Sometime the evening prior Bart had fallen asleep on her shoulder, had slipped down from there to sleep soundly on one arm. It was half numb from the weight and couldn't be moved from under him. She blinked into the morning light, terror starting when she realized just how bright it was. She had set her clock radio for 5:00am but it was all the way in the other room. She strained her ears and heard the radio already playing.

"Get up!" She slapped Bart on the arm.

"What?" The older man mumbled into her shoulder.

"Get the hell up," Lewis tried again. When she caught sight of the time on the mantle she gave a shove with her entire body. "I'm late!"

Bart opened his eyes, blinked twice before he realized where he was. Then he shot up, pushed over to the far side of the couch. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again. He was getting good at it.

Lewis was on her feet immediately, grabbed at her folders and dissertation. She threw them on the coffee table. "Most important two hours of my life, and I spend the night before coddling Bart fucking Bass!"

"Maybe I could help you prepare."

Lewis opened her folder with an amused snort. "Can you explain why you draw so heavily on Kubler-Ross even though contemporaries find her research into grief to be too simplistic and formulistic?"

That earned Lewis the biggest _what the fuck_ face ever worn by Bart Bass. He's not sure he liked feeling stupid.

"That's what I thought," Lewis shot off as she flipped through. "And I just know they're going to ask that question."

"Surely there's something I can do," Bart asked as Lewis began to stamp her feet in nervousness.

"I have sixty minutes and I haven't even showered yet!" Lewis snapped. "How about you just shut up!" Her son took that moment to greet the morning with another shrieking cry. "Oh my God!" Lewis threw out in frustration, tears already forming in her eyes.

"Why don't you take that shower," Bart suggested. "I'll calm your son down."

Lewis was inclined to say no but she was a little afraid that if she did then she'd show up to her PhD defence smelling of body odour and men's cologne. Hardly the professional presentation she was hoping for.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The friends were gathered around a table at Cranberry when the text came. They were sipping martinis and talking about Prom. Blair's hard work all year was less than three months from fruition. The school had started selling tickets yesterday morning but none of their party had bought any. Eric because he was still a junior but the rest, well they didn't have any plans. So they tried to form some but they came up empty. They'd all lapsed into silence when the phone beeped. The message was a shock to them all. First because they didn't realize Chuck had gotten his phone back. The second shock was the nature of the text that lit Eric's phone.

_**E.**_

_**Can you meet me at my dad's place?**_

_**C**_

Eric stared at the phone a moment before he texted the answer.

_**C**_

_**Just tell me when you're heading back.**_

_**E**_

It took only thirty seconds for the reply. It was enough to turn their surprise to a full freak out.

_**E**_

_**I'm here now**_

**C**

Eric was slow to arrive at the town home. He'd stayed with the rest long enough to scheme a solution to their newest problem. Nothing really insightful developed. They didn't know why Chuck was back in the first place. So Eric climbed the stairs in the townhouse and found his brother on the third floor. He was on the outside patio, tan and yellow striped suit blending with the neutral backdrop. He was leaned against the outside cushions, one arm dangling over the ledge behind. When he caught sight of his brother he stood.

"Why are you here?" Eric asked first.

"I discharged myself," Chuck admitted.

"Why?"

"I didn't need it anymore."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Chuck shook his head. He'd learned what he needed to and some stuff he wished he hadn't.

"So are you back to stay?" Eric asked. "I heard about your plans to move."

"I'm still moving," Chuck admitted. He leaned against the outdoor arbour. "I need to live in my own house."

"In a foreign country?"

"It's a beautiful apartment. You'd have to see it. It dangles so far over the water you'd think you were falling into a sea of blue."

"And this is why you're moving."

"I just need something new."

"Are you sure that you're not just trying to avoid the rest?" Eric asked. It was a reasonable point. Chuck hadn't talked to Serena, Nate or Blair, well really talked to them anyway, since his desperate phone calls. He'd defected to another group of friends just to avoid the humiliation. It was reasonable that he was flying away for the same end.

"It's not about that," Chuck promised. "I just need a fresh start."

"You won't know anyone there," Eric pointed out.

"That's partly the point."

"There will be no one there to help you through."

"Don't begrudge me a new start," Chuck offered with a look over the cement block. "I just want to go to a place where Chuck Bass doesn't mean anything. Where I can recreate myself as something new, without all the hang ups and expectations that encircle me here."

"It still sounds like running away."

"It's less than six months," Chuck pointed out. "In September I start at Yale."

"So stay here. It's _only_ six months."

"I can't," Chuck insisted. Eric was going to say something else but then Chuck told the truth. "I'm afraid to stay here." Eric couldn't really say anything to that. His brother had finally argued right. So he nodded his head in resignation instead. "I wanted to give you something before I left." Chuck unbuttoned the top of his shirt and unclipped the St. Christopher's medal he wore around his neck. He wound it through his hand and held it out to his brother. "I'd like you to have this because if it wasn't for you then I wouldn't be here right now."

"Chuck..."

"The person who gave it to me said it's the Patron Saint of Travellers. She said it would protect you on any journey, whether that be a physical or a personal one."

"Then you should keep it," Eric pushed the medallion back. "Because you're not done yours."

Chuck kept his hand up for another moment before he accepted Eric's logic. He returned it to his neck and leaned against the balcony.

"When are you leaving?" Eric asked.

"Tomorrow morning. I have to fill out some paperwork at the Canadian embassy first."

Eric nodded his head and the two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Eric knew what he wanted to say but he couldn't phrase it right and Chuck was too firm to chip away at. So in the end they simply hugged with good wishes and Eric left the house with a gnawing sense of dread. He was three steps down the street when he texted for reinforcement.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart stood outside the graduate building, two cups of coffee barely warming his hands. His was nearly empty and Lewis' was closer to iced coffee at this point. He tossed them both in the garbage and took a look at his watch. It had been nearly five hours at that point. It seemed like an unnaturally long time. Perhaps he really had screwed up her doctorate defence. I mean it's not like she'd slept. She'd spent the entire night listening to him ramble about his problems. Maybe she stumbled over that question about Rober-Klutz or whatever it was. Wow, he was certain he didn't like feeling stupid.

Then he caught sight of her walking out. Her head was down to follow the steps and Bart felt a surge of guilt. Then she looked up and the beaming smile washed it away. When she caught sight of him she ran down the last couple steps and flew into his arms. Okay, so maybe at that point she'd have hugged a dog but it didn't bother him. She was _that_ good looking after all.

"Congratulations," Bart offered as she jumped back in surprise at her own actions. "Dr. Lewis."

That washed her blush away, returned the joyful smile to her face. He tried to ask her about it but his mind was too preoccupied to attempt it. She figured it out pretty quickly. It wasn't surprising. She had just graduated with a doctorate in psychology. "What's the matter?"

"Chuck checked himself out." Bart admitted.

Lewis took a deep breath at that, bit at her cheek and considered. "I'll give you eight weeks."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was swimming laps when she found him, cutting through the water with well timed strokes, kicking at each wall after a tight spin. She watched his body move through, bare chest contrasting with his bold purple trunks, face partially hidden under a set of matching goggles. He didn't stop as she reached the edge of the pool; he just kicked harder, arms thrashing to match. She knew he had seen her. He always did. She let him play the game. He couldn't stay in the pool forever. It took another twenty laps before he emerged, water running from his thick hair, bouncing off his shoulders and puddling across his stomach. He brushed at his hair with the towel, didn't remove the goggles until it was dried through, then he pulled them back to rest on the top of his head. He tossed the towel over one shoulder and just stood awkwardly, eyes fixed to the ground.

"You were going to leave without seeing me," Blair started with a cross of her arms.

Chuck looked up at her words, tiny flicker of something that disappeared as he looked down again. "It's better this way," He promised into the cement.

"Better for me or for you?"

"Blair..." He mumbled into the floor.

"How can you do this?" Blair asked. "If you ever cared about me then you wouldn't do this to me."

Chuck stared harder into the cement, words failed. He could neither admit nor deny. It was a lose-lose situation.

"Do you know how much I will worry about you if you leave?" Blair continued. "I won't be able to..."

"Stop," Chuck ordered with a fleeting look upward. "Don't you see I can't live my life according to what you want?"

That was the moment Blair's last romantic ideal shattered to nothing. It was a jarring rip, one that left her doubting his once sworn declaration of love. It made her angry. "Look at me," she snapped as he kept his eyes downward. "Look at me," She ordered as she moved across the room to stand in front of him. When he still didn't she grabbed at his chin. He tried to push her hand away but she grabbed again, competing desires played out in a battle of hands.

The battle ended once Chuck threw himself forward, closed the distance and kissed her hard on the lips. She gasped in surprise and he pushed further, snaked his tongue between her parted lips. His eyes were as squeezed shut as his hands were open. They played at the edge of her shirt, traced the length of her back and below, wound through her curls and forced her closer to him. She was lost for a moment in the sensation, she could taste the chlorine on his lips, felt her knee length skirt dampen from his still wet shorts. She could feel his attempt to dominate; his arms were dragging on her, trying to urge her downward. Blair wouldn't let him pull to the cement because she understood. Sex to Chuck was as much about creating distance as breaking it. He could take her here on the floor and two hours later be on a transcontinental flight. So she shoved him backward, reclaimed control of the situation. She grabbed at his chin, nails digging deep so he couldn't turn away. "Look at me!"

That time he didn't have a choice. He'd done everything he could and was left with only one option, to meet her brown eyes. She saw it when he did, the shame which clouded his pupils and keep him from staring fully. "Just look at me," She softened her tone and waited for his fleeting looks to turn steady. "Chuck," She lightened her grip, cupped rather than held his chin. "I'm not angry about what you did. I'm not even upset," She continued. She was upset at the time but after reflection she recognized something else. "I'm thankful," She smiled and some of his clouding cleared. "All I ever wanted was for you to confide in me."

She didn't say anything else, she didn't need to. Instead she watched one of their divisions dissolve to nothing. She just stared now that she could, was comforted by his chocolate eyes as much as he was by hers.

"How can you..."

"Come with me," She dropped her hand now that he was no longer fighting her. She slipped her arm through his now that he was willing and pulled him through the house. He let her lead him, didn't fight or hesitate until she directed him towards his bedroom. He stood still and that's when she knew. He hadn't seen it yet. "Come on," She pulled harder but he stood firm.

"I don't want to go in there."

"Just trust me," Blair said softly and because of their shared history he did.

He saw the outline before Blair even turned on the lights. When illumination cut the darkness he was rendered speechless. Blair just stood back as he stared, eyes pausing only between the longer passages. Damien had crafted an enormous oak tree on _that_ wall, winding branches from which dangled elaborate leafing. It looked almost lifelike but that wasn't the part that was twisting Chuck's throat in astonishment. It was the lettering that was woven through every branch and leaf. The trunk held his name, and the leaves adjectives to describe him (in much more positive terms than he had put there himself) but the branches were what he couldn't turn away from. They were collections of stories, each an example of a time he had helped his friends. Some he had nearly forgotten but evidently the rest hadn't. And there were so many, so many examples of that kind, generous and empathetic side whose existence he often doubted.

Blair watched as he walked forward, could see just how much effort he was expending on not crying. His shoulders shook with the attempt. She wanted to put a hand to his forehead, urge him to just let it go already but she thought the better of it. So she waited while his fingers traced their affection put to art. They hesitated beneath the signatories. To the far side was the title Non-Judging Breakfast Club and beneath it each of their names, Eric's was in red to their blue, to demonstrate that he was the later addition. Beneath that was the admonishment to _Stay Sober_ in bold red letters. That wasn't the part that drew his fingers. It was the black text that crossed through. Chuck traced with his pointer finger the simple _We Love You_.

Blair couldn't keep the tears from her own eyes on watching him. They watered as he forced his to stay dry. She wanted to hug him but she didn't dare. She didn't even approach him until he turned his eyes. "Blair," he put his hand out and she crossed the room to take it. It didn't stop there; he pulled her flush to him. It wasn't like before; there was no alternative motivation to the touch. He just wanted to hug her. So he did. His body shook but he didn't cry; he held her until that shaking turned into something beautiful. It was so much, too much maybe but it couldn't change his mind. "I still can't stay here," Chuck admitted and Blair felt her own body shudder against his. She closed her eyes and thought of anything that could change his mind.

"Then don't," She leaned back to suggest. She met his brown eyes and drew her own solution. "Move in with me."

Chuck agreed much the way he had four years before, when he had run away to Seattle and she had flown there to bring him back. He agreed today the same way he had then, not with words but a simple shake of his head.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – I decided to post all of Chapter Fifteen since I needed the CB as much as everyone else (I also moved a few of the other character's scenes out so I could make it in one). And...Yes...you read that right...Chuck will now be living at the Waldorf Penthouse. _

_Sky Samuelle – I'm sorry I took away B's chance to kind of deflower C...I want him to know the difference though. As for CN, I don't know how their friendship will survive. N is the only who has barely matured since the start of TH._

_Blair – I think C will be happy to help B humilate P. Though whether she'll want her throne back, who knows._

_BrittyKay – Sebastian is part insightful and part the evil side of Chuck drawing him downward. That's why I said he'd both friend and foe._

_Annablake – A big part of me wanted B to be C's first sober but I think he needed to experience that to know the difference. BTW, thanks for your wonderful review I was kind of deflated after the other one._

_Bluestriker – thanks_

_M – This story is only halfway to 3/4rds of the way through so I suggest the little x on the top right if you're not liking it anymore._

_Tiff – thanks_

_Roswell Dream Girl – Well C isn't going to be ignoring her anymore (they will be living together after all) but it doesn't mean everything will be rosy and easy._

_Up Next – The passage of the date they circle in red. Nate gets jealous while Chuck and Blair plot P's downfall._


	39. Chapter Sixteen Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Sixteen – Part One**

_April 12, 2009_

_What I hate about my mother can be summed in up a single word, or a string of three. I'm Eric Van der Woodsen, my sister is Serena Van der Woodsen but my mother has spent the last eight years as Lily Putzkammer (yes, really!), Lily Webb and finally Lily Bass. That doesn't even include the nearlies, the other diamond rings she wore and men she very nearly married._

_A family ought to share the same last name. Who do I share my last name with? Some man that I call Benjamin rather than father and only see twice a year, the weeks before Thanksgiving and Easter. Except Easter is tomorrow and there was no trip this year. I'm not surprised. I heard Ben had a new baby with his second wife. I feel sorry for the little boy or girl. Benjamin never was much of a father. His second wife should have followed the precedent set forhis first kids._

_But perhaps now you understand why I was the one to suggest the acronym Van der Bass._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The strange thing about the Waldorf Penthouse is that the scent of rose swirls in every corner. There's no reason for it. Calla lilies are the Waldorf trademark; they cover every inch, disappearing only with the daisies in early summer. In the thirteen years of their friendship, Chuck can't count a single time roses have held the principal place but still the scent remains. It's the same aroma that's woven through each of Blair's hairs, a rich almost musky scent that envelops you at first inhalation.

Chuck is certain he loves that scent, has ever since he was fourteen. That was the first time he stayed here, lodged in this same room for over three months. Blair had convinced him it was for the best; Chuck had agreed that it was the only way he _could_ return to New York. He'd never told Blair about the precursors to his flight and she'd never asked, knowing enough about him and his father to know it truly could have been anything. He'd confessed to the fist fight last year but never the overdose that had preceded it. It was for the best. Blair had already hated Bart Bass enough and Chuck, despite everything, never could. He'd stayed here until Bart had offered him a hotel suite of his own and Nate had suggested that he and Blair were getting a little _too_ close. What a twisted tale they'd led since then.

Still the feelings emerged with that scent: a blend of safety, security and affection that calmed him before his eyes were even opened. It was a kind of pleasant hangover, the remnants of that time and that friendship. In her own way, Blair has been at his side all along. That's why even though it every moment in that house ought to be awkward but it's not. Rather than falling into fights or deep conversations they fall into what they had before, a kind of friendship where everything is just kind of funny. It also why, when he hears her whisper, he doesn't stir. He knows it's woven through his thoughts and fodder for his dreams. That's why he mumbles his reply more to the daisy-filled fields of a fantasy than the 100 count sheets that wrap his body. He can see her there; brown curls tangling through the white flowers, cheeks blushed through with red, tears forming at the force of her laughter. She's always laughing in his dreams, or else moaning in ecstasy, often one before the other.

"Wake up Chuck!" The command ripped right though his dream. Blair snapped the curtains open, flood of light cascading into the bedroom. It was already fully day and when Chuck stared at the clock he realized school was less than a half hour away. "You might be bunking with me," Blair continued as she spun, hair reflected through with the brilliant sunlight. "But you're not making me late."

Chuck winced at the morning sun. "I could think of better ways to be woken up."

"I tried whispering in your ear," Blair admitted with a contented smile. It was just a little too smug. It disconcerted Chuck. Maybe he'd said those things aloud.

"Next time try tongue," Chuck suggested with his trademark smirk.

"Next time try a better compliment than _you're so hot._"

That wiped the smirk right off Chuck's face. "But you are…"

"Don't even bother! I'm planning on lording that one over you for at least a month."

"That's not fair!"

"Since when have I ever been fair?" Blair questioned. "Or you?"

"I think…"

"Just get up," Blair arched a brow. "You have a present waiting."

Chuck perked right up at that. "Did you say present?"

"I told you it's fun to bunk with the Waldorfs."

And it was. One of the things Chuck distinctly remembered was the meals. It was a throwback to his own history. When he was young, Misty had made a point of family meals. She'd always had breakfast on the table, always sat with him to eat it. She'd insisted on a family dinner, managed to keep Bart's attendance by setting the hour to 8pm. After his mother died, Chuck didn't have that again until he'd landed on the Waldorf doorstop, and he hadn't had it again after (except for Bart and Lily's short attempt at occasional dinners). He didn't realize he missed it until Dorota put the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Things were different now, Roman had replaced Eleanor, high fat breakfast foods replacing low fat yogurt and fruit (except on Blair's plate) but other things were the same. Harold still led the discussions, Blair still folded her napkin exactly right and Chuck still felt at home. The gift was across from him, a medium box wrapt in purple paper and decorated with gold ribbon.

"Are you going to open it?" Blair asked as he hesitated.

He didn't usually hesitate with gifts. He devoured the paper and anything within. He just wanted to preserve that memory for a moment longer. Then he pulled at the ribbon, ripped the paper clear. He smiled before the box was open; he could tell the contents by the picture on the side. Blair had bought him a new pair of soccer cleats. They were purple and green like the others, uniform colours reigning through a customized logo. The entire side was a collection of tiny crowns, sewn individually and crisscrossing in the contrasting colours. They were perfect.

"I thought you'd need a new pair," Blair said. He did. He'd burned the other pair in the fireplace the morning after Georgina's photograph. He'd stopped playing soccer nearly a month before. He hadn't started with the New Year. He'd been too preoccupied.

There were a lot of things he needed to start over.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate heard the jeers before he caught sight of them. The chanting of "_They tried to make me go to Rehab, I said yes, yes, NO!" _that had Chuck visibly flinch and Blair press her hand reassuringly through his arm. Nate hadn't seen Chuck since he got back. The rest had gone over to visit on Sunday but Nate had begged off. He'd pretended business with the Vanderbilts. It was easier than feigning happiness on seeing Chuck encamped in the Waldorf Penthouse. Apparently his best friend looked radiantly happy, at least according to Serena. It ought to have made Nate happy as well. It did...in part. The rest was festering in greener pastures.

It was all so stupid because he had had Blair first. She had made him her whole world, offered him love without conditions and he hadn't wanted any of it. But now that her arm was wrapped securely through his best friend's he couldn't help but want that for himself. It was all entirely inappropriate. He ought not to feel those things for Blair. Chuck was his best friend. So he did the only thing he could. He threw himself through the throng at the courtyard and gave Chuck the biggest, manliest hug he could. "Welcome back," He finished with a slap on the back.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck dangled one foot off the lowered wall at lunch. He was starting to feel humiliated. He had to chase off a freshman to gain back his regular vantage. Did the name Chuck Bass mean nothing anymore? It was enough to make him light another cigarette; dangle his foot a bit lower until he kicked another freshman in the back. Okay so maybe it wasn't the same one, and maybe it was a bit beneath him but he needed something dammit! The boy scurried away with neither a glare nor a comment. That felt better.

Chuck pushed his head back into the cement of the school, closed his eyes and focussed on blissful nothingness. He felt the rush of noise without concentrating on any words; let everyone else's conversation lull him into a sense of false security. The security died with his name, the tap at his foot when he refused to move. He opened his eyes, regretting it the moment he did. Before him was Jenny Humphrey. She'd come alone, rest of her wannabe clique hiding on the more feminine side of the courtyard, blonde hair half covering her flittering expression. Chuck didn't say anything, he's not sure he ought to.

"Chuck," She said his name again. He wished she wouldn't. "I need to thank…"

"Please don't," Chuck cut her off before she could continue. "You shouldn't."

"If it wasn't for you…"

"I don't need your thanks. Anyone would have done it."

"I think…"

"If you have to say something then say that you'll consider forgiving me instead."

Jenny never put it to words, but she did nod her head before turning and fleeing back to the other side. It had to be enough. Nate came as she walked away, eyes following the blonde's thin thighs before returning to his friend. He sat beside the brunette and Chuck gave up on meditative escapism. He sat straighter on the cement, dragged harder on his cigarette and evaded Nate's questions about the youngest Humphrey. He scanned the courtyard instead, watched the familiar groups of teens expand and contract until he caught something entirely out of place.

"What the hell is that?" Chuck asked Nate once he caught sight of Blair. She was sitting on the steps with her friends, beside Serena but two steps below Penelope.

"What? Blair and the mean girls?"

"No, the passing flock of geese. Of course Blair!"

"A lot of things have changed since you took off," Nate admitted.

Chuck didn't need anymore information. He butted his cigarette into the cement, jumped off the wall and marched right over to the little grouping. He caught Serena's eye as he crossed. She shrugged her shoulders but it didn't make him hesitate. He was kneeling beside Blair before she even noticed him.

"Chuck Bass," Penelope stared down at him, eyes knitting unattractively together. "I thought you dropped out of St. Judes...oh sorry...you just drop out of rehab. How many days did you last? Was it seven or ten?"

"Ten," Chuck said without hesitation. "Which was seven more than your mother!"

Hazel had to suck back a laugh at that, the rest covering their matching grins. Penelope's face went a little darker but Chuck didn't stay around to catch her retort. He never did have a long patience. "Blair," He whispered and pulled at her arm instead.

"What?" Blair snapped at him once he'd pulled her away.

"What is going on?"

"With them? They're been a change of head," She admitted.

"Penelope? How did that happen?"

"I was a bit busy. It's just stupid stuff."

"How busy?" Chuck asked. "I mean it only takes three brain cells to defeat Penelope. You could have multitasked."

Blair took a deep breath and Chuck suddenly didn't want to know what she'd been busy with. She never explained it anyway, just detoured around his suggestion. "I could wipe her out. I just don't care to anymore."

"You like Penelope being in charge?"

"Well maybe not that but I don't even like those girls anymore."

"You're still sitting with them."

"Force of habit?"

"So while you're sitting with them," Chuck tried again. "Wouldn't you rather sit at the top?"

"I guess so," Blair shrugged again.

"Do you have this evening free?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"We're going to be late," Serena decided with a glance at her watch. She was with her brother Eric, taxicab speeding from one side of the Brooklyn Bridge to the other. They'd been to Damien's apartment, spent the afternoon splitting music and conversations.

"You think I care?" Eric mumbled at the glass.

Serena stared at her brother in exasperation. He wasn't himself. He'd taken the split harder than of the rest. Even Chuck wasn't as bothered, but then again, Chuck had Blair instead of Bart to smooth through the rough patches. "Mom wanted us to be on time for dinner." Serena pointed out. Lily had been planning some elaborate meal and Serena hoped it was meant as an attempt to reconcile with her youngest. The two were barely on speaking terms. If her mother knew best she'd sit them all down to grilled chicken (Eric had a natural aversion to red meat) and chocolate cake (because chocolate soothes everything).

"I don't really care what mom wants," Eric muttered.

Despite some subtle and some not so subtle attempts to calm the home waters, Eric's mood was hardy improved as they walked into the house. It looked hardly different from two years before, the last time it'd been their home. Perhaps that was part of the problem. The usually organized Eric tossed his bag onto the entrance floor, kicked his shoes each to a random side and then marched forward. Serena hurried to catch up.

They heard the voices before they even reached the kitchen. Serena recognized all three before they'd even crossed thee threshold. A quick glance at Eric and she knew he did too. His eyes narrowed dangerously into a perfect imitation of his once older brother.

"You're late," Lily chastised in her usual business tone.

Eric didn't even pause as he entered the room. It took only one glance to see where the chips lay. "For pot roast and the Humphreys," He retorted to his sister with a backward glance. The movement hardly broke his stride. He walked straight through the gathering and out the far door.

"Eric!" Lily called after him but her only response was the slam of a bedroom door. The entire Humphrey clan collectively shifted in their chairs. Dan kept shifting even after but Serena didn't notice. She was too busy trading stares with her mother, passing nonverbal cues and information. She wondered when the roles had shifted. Eric had always been the intermediary, twisting enough sarcasm to untwist the usual battles between mother and daughter. He'd always been so calm. Then again, his calmness had ended in slashed wrists. Serena was pretty sure that this was better.

So she went in her mother's place, opened her brother's door and prepared for the sharp reproof. It never came. Eric was too preoccupied with filling a bag. He had two uniforms and a full change of essentials packed by the time she walked in.

"What are you doing?" Serena asked as he zipped the carry bag closed.

"Just a little something I learned from Chuck."

"Eric!" Serena put a hand to his brother's arm but he wrenched it off. "Don't overreact."

That made Eric laugh. "If you think I'm going to spend my evening playing nice with the Humphreys then you've got another thing coming. Do you even remember what Jenny did to me?"

"It's so long ago."

"It's not even that," Eric yelled as he tossed the bag over his shoulder. "I told mom, I warned her that this would happen."

"Eric! Just take a deep breath."

"I guess she'll find out that one Van der Woodsen can keep their word." He promised as he kicked open his bedroom door. "I'll call you later," He yelled back at Serena as he walked right past the _happily_ gathered future family, stopping only to kick the main door even harder.

"Serena?" Her mother looked downright pale.

"Great job mom!" Serena yelled back with a lingering glance down the street. Eric was already out of sight.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair eyed the lattice in doubt. It was a multitude of interwoven wooden planks, thin strips that spread from the base of the house to the second floor. Ivory was woven through each lath, bits of green and white that decorated the Price home. As a decoration it was beautiful but as a ladder? Blair had her doubts. "Are you sure you can climb that?" She asked Chuck.

"Marcus and I used to do it all the time."

"When you were five?"

"We were thirteen," Chuck corrected her but Blair's doubts rose. She eyed Chuck and tried to remember what he had looked like at thirteen. She was pretty sure he had been five inches shorter and probably fifty pounds less.

"Are you sure it's worth it?"

"Believe me; this house holds the key to Penelope's downfall." Blair tossed her hands at that, closed her eyes and urged Chuck to go to it. He made it halfway before the lattice shifted to the right and he was forced to make a quick grab at the wood siding. "Blair," Chuck muttered down the twining ivory. "Can you hold it steady?"

"I suppose I could if I wanted to."

"Blair!"

"I'm a bit busy."

"Doing what?"

"Enjoying the view from down here. You've been working out haven't you?"

Chuck stared straight down in shock. He probably shouldn't have shifted his weight so quickly because, while the lattice didn't fall from the house, one wooden cross plank gave underneath his fingers. The crack of wood was followed shortly after by the smack of his body on the pavement below. He was definitely heavier than he'd been at thirteen. Blair's scream was matched by his, a roll to the right and inhalation followed by a sharp bite of his own lip. He had to bite it; it was the only way to keep the string of expletives encased.

"Oh my god!" Blair knelt beside him immediately. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine and dandy!" Chuck said between forced exhalations. "I think I broke my arm."

"Really?"

"It fucking hurts!"

"What should I do?" Blair asked in desperation.

"I really think you should," Chuck gave one last gasp before his face cleared into a contented smile. "Feel me up to make sure I'm okay."

Blair's worried look dissolved into some far less friendly when she realized the game. "You're a Basshole," She decided with a slap to his arm.

"Hey,' Chuck winced. "It does hurt a bit."

"What? Here?" Blair asked with another slap on the wounded portion.

"Blair! Stop!" Chuck rolled as she slapped yet again.

"Do you really think I should?" Blair taunted.

"Yes."

"Why?" Blair asked with another slap.

"Because I need to call for reinforcements," Chuck promised and Blair desisted. He flipped his phone and scrolled through the long list of contacts until he found the M's. "Hey Marcus. I have a favour to ask."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis knocked on the Bass townhouse at precisely 7pm. She had Aidan dangled on one hip and a diaper bag over the opposite shoulder. The door was opened immediately, servant stepping back to beckon her forward. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She and Andrew had lived in a townhouse like this, well perhaps not to these dimensions but why would they? So she could employ a house of servants to clean up after them? Then Aidan dropped his sippy cup on the floor, soundtracked through with a mischievous "Oopsie!" It split open and carrot juice spread from one side of the tile to the other.

"I'll get that ma'am."

Then again, maybe a couple servants wouldn't be that bad.

"Dr. Smith," Bart literally burst into the front entrance. He'd been home for an hour but you could barely see the difference in his attire. He simply traded one suit for another, the lack of a tie his try at a casual feel.

"Mr. Bass."

"Please, call me Bart."

Lewis didn't reciprocate. "I got your phone call."

"Yes," Bart stepped back into his house. "I wanted to show you something. Follow me."

Lewis pulled Aidan high on her hip and followed the elder Bass into the townhouse. It was an architectural masterpiece but Lewis was never that interested in houses. It had wide open space, individualized trim in every room and cherry wood to line the floor beyond the entrance. Bart didn't stop for the grand tour, he led her up one flight of stairs and then another. When they reached the top Lewis put her son to the carpet to recover her strength while Bart surged ahead. When he realized her predicament he stopped and waited until she was ready to meet him at the door. It was just a plain white door until Bart flipped it open.

"Whoa!" Lewis froze solid as soon as she entered the room. It was a child's and the last time she checked Chuck Bass had long outgrown the space motif. All the planets hung from the ceiling in order, central sun outsizing the rest. The walls were part mountainous scenes and part yellow starred sky. She didn't know whether to be impressed that Bart could manage this in less than forty-eight hours or furious that he'd already broken their agreement. There were ground rules; they'd spent nearly three hours hammering out eighteen. She was pretty sure this room shot through sixteen of them in a single go.

"See that door," Bart pointed to the edge of one mountain. You could just catch the copper handle interspersed in tones of brown. "Your room is connected to this one." He walked over and pulled the handle to expose a bright green colour palate.

She was pretty sure that put the other two rules to death. "Our little agreement never involved me living here."

"There was nothing in writing," Bart reminded her.

Lewis crossed her arms. It figured! Bart Bass would need a written contract. "I told you I would help you and Chuck while I was in New York."

"You could help us better here."

"Chuck's not even here!"

"I'm hoping that will change."

"And I'll talk with both of you to try to make that happen."

"You have your own floor," Bart pointed out. "There's even a separate entrance through the back. I'm rarely here and you'll have a whole house of servants at your beckon."

"That's not the issue."

"I'll pay your hourly rate," Bart suggested. "Twenty-four hours a day while you're here."

"I'm not a clinical psychologist," Lewis said. "I don't have an hourly fee."

"So make one up. I don't care what it is."

Lewis rolled her eyes. Was Bart's answer to everything to throw more money at it? "I'm not interested in your money. I'm doing this as a personal favour and that's it!"

"I'll buy you your own house." Apparently it was!

"I'm more than capable of purchasing my own home."

"You're a student!"

"The Wiltshires made sure I had a six figure inheritance after Andrew's death. They felt it necessary to keep their grandson in the lifestyle he ought to be accustomed to." That wasn't the sole reason for the funds, embedded in the payout was the guarantee that she never reveal Andrew Wiltshire for the domestic abuser he was. She wasn't about to add that in to their conversation.

"Then set up your practice in New York. I'll arrange..."

"I'm not a clinical psychologist," She reminded him again. "I'm an academic one. I plan on teaching at Stanford this fall."

"Surely there's something. I'm Bart Bass! I can offer you anything you've ever wanted, dreamed about, or had the smallest hankering for. There is nothing beyond my means!"

"Mommy!" Aidan's little hands made a grab at the dangling orange sphere. "Ball!" He cried out as he tried to inch closer to the sun. "Ball!" He insisted with a little kick, the sun staying frustratingly far from reach. Lewis put him down. That didn't help. He was further away now.

"See," Bart's eyebrow rose at how easily Aidan was won over.

Lewis didn't like the smug smile that Bart wore at her son's excitement. She also couldn't deny that he offered her an enticing proposition. If it was a different moment in time she'd have rejected him outright but her own dreams were dangerously close to being destroyed forever. "There is something," She admitted with her own eyebrow rising.

"Anything."

"I have some legal issues," Lewis admitted. "I could use a lawyer, a very good and very discreet one."

"Done," Bart offered his hand for the shake.

"Six weeks." She barely touched it before she walked by, walked through the open door to her own room. There was a thick chair rail that ran the entire length of the wall. Beneath it was a rich forest green pinstriped through with a lighter shade. At the base of the ceiling was more green, this time woven through painted ivory. It was beautiful and entirely to her taste.

"Did Chuck tell you my favourite colour was green?"

"No. I just guessed." Bart said, his private smile hidden behind a hand.

"I'll have our stuff sent over," Lewis decided with one final glance left and right. She didn't look back at Bart. She didn't want to see his self-satisfied smile.

"Dr. Smith." Bart began but she interrupted.

"I suppose you'd better call me Lewis if we're going to be living together."

"Lewis. What kind of lawyer?"

"Immigration."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck and Blair were hiding outside when Marcus emerged from the Price townhouse, packet in one hand. "Where were you?" Marcus asked as he approached the pair.

"By the ivory lattice."

"Why?"

"So we could get in."

"By climbing the lattice? We haven't used that entrance since, like, thirteen. You just need to drop the butler a few hundred." Marcus said.

Blair snorted, she couldn't help herself. Chuck held back the glare, or at least reduced it to a flicker of agitation. "Did you get them?" Chuck asked and Marcus tossed the bundle of letters.

"You owe me $400" Marcus said as he sauntered off.

"You'd only put the money to bad uses anyway," Chuck yelled back. The brunette shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

"What are those?" Blair asked with a grab at the packet.

"Now, now," Chuck stepped back, playful smirk crossing his face as he pulled the letters behind him. "All in good time."

"I've waited long enough," Blair countered with a grab at his arms. She pulled at him, tried to get him to turn and surrender his prize but Chuck was as adamant as she was forceful. She didn't manage anything beyond wrapping her arms around him, kicking her heels between his and finally facing him outright. She stood up when she couldn't move him off the mark, gave a final push with her shoulder before giving up with one last angry exhalation. Then she realized it, in their childish fighting they'd ended face to face. Her face was literally inches from his. Blair could feel his breath against her lips and suddenly she didn't care about letters, or scheming or anything other than the experience of it, of that look in his eyes which had grown in proportion with hers.

It was that moment all over again: that instant that was a cross between anxiety and bliss, with fluttering insects and a strange kind of sickness that never really felt bad. That moment that was all kinds of crazy because let's face it, the boy was two days from dropping out of rehab with more problems than one could list and she wasn't any better. But still, when he inched forward she couldn't help but hold her breath in anticipation. And when he jumped right back she couldn't help but wonder what the fuck was wrong with the world.

"We should go back to the house," Chuck insisted without another look. He handed the packet over without another word.

Blair didn't know what to say. That was not textbook Chuck Bass. She didn't even know what that was. So she chose to ignore it altogether. She contented herself with reading instead. Chuck flagged a taxi and she devoured the letters. Apparently before her obsession with Nathaniel, Penelope's fascination had landed firmly on one Matthew Price. Those letters, they were love letters or something like that. "Oh my god," Blair's eyes widened with each flip of paper. "These are positively pornographic!"

"Why do you think Matt kept them?" Chuck said with a knowing smirk.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_Blair S – Yeah, this story did start out on a rather cheery/humorous note. It needed to after YCFYF though._

_Bluestriker – thanks ;)_

_Oc-journey – Yeah, I liked the whole wall bit too. Just for the record I think Chuck has always wanted Blair, probably needs her. But does he think Blair needs him or should even have him?_

_BrittyKay – they'll be a lot happier moments from now on, but it won't be entirely smooth. I couldn't write ten more chapters of fluff. I wouldn't be one of my stories then :P_

_Sky Samuelle – I think I just prefer CE to CN now. I tried to keep the CN alive and I'm not planning to kill it outright but N just isn't growing to match._

_CBEBIW trory – Yes, you must have faith ;)_

_XOXOXOgg4lifeXOXOXO – hope you liked it_

_Doxeh – Yeah, I love Bart so much. I still hate that they killed him in canon. Stupid writers :(_

_PeytonSwayer – Well you'll get more Bart with Aidan now I suppose ;)_

_Ingridmarie – Thanks :)_

_Annablake – Hmm, Bart and Lewis. I guess I could reorder that Bart/Lily/Rufus/OC thing now to reflect what it really is. Chuck and Blair living together...how could that be anything but blissful :P_

_Bloomgirl – Thanks :)_

_MidnightSky – Well it's not ending anytime soon but one day I promise it will, with a wedding ;) As for Sebastian, he'd going to do something later, just not in person._

_Up Next – Penelope gets hers but does Blair want her throne back? Where exactly did Eric move? What is that date in red? And who is the most frustrating man to ever live?_


	40. Chapter Sixteen Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Sixteen – Part Two**

Blair dipped her spoon into the strawberry yogurt, licked contentedly at all sides as it happened. She stared across the courtyard to the distant wall, winked at Chuck as he met her brown eyes with his. There were watching the group of freshman students, three girls and boy that they'd hired for distribution. Each had a stack of papers in their hands and at precisely 12:01 they started throwing them at the rush of the lunch crowd. Chuck and Blair had considered using Gossip Girl but there was something too satisfying about old fashioned print and paper. After all, the anatomically correct drawings would never translate to electronic text.

It only took to 12:03 when the whispers started, a dulled roar that rushed from one side of the school to the other, the force of over a hundred teenagers gossiping in sequence. Their eyes were turned to the steps, Blair the only one who knew why. After the eyes were the fingers, directed square at Penelope. Blair gave a contented sigh as she dipped her spoon again. She ran her tongue along the length of the metal and waited for someone to pass Penelope a copy. It didn't take long. One of the juniors did it, passed a sheet from Is upward. It was a slow pass, each of their minions pausing to fully survey the text first. Blair waved it past her and that's when the rest knew that she had been the one to do it.

By 12:07 Penelope was frozen in shock, colour draining from her long face and making her darker eyes stand out in comparison. Blair waited for something, some kind of response but didn't really expect it. Penelope might have taunted her for loving Chuck Bass despite all his faults (and Blair had give up contradicting that truth in her thoughts at least) but it was quite another thing to be obsessed with a boy who would soon face trial, and to seal that obsession with crudely worded declarations.

At 12:10 she heard the dry heaving from Penelope's throat. She could have felt guilty but that girl deserved it all and worse. So Blair just dipped her yogurt again, turning the creamy liquid between her contented lips. She listened to Penelope collect her things, watched her walk not into the building but straight out of the courtyard, through the front entrance and beyond.

At 12:13 Hazel said what Blair had expected all along. "Well you got it back," Hazel invited her to sit higher, to retake her throne. They all stared with an adoration that was built most of all in scared awe.

At 12:14 Blair gave the answer that shocked them all. "I don't want it."

"Are you kidding me?" Kat asked in surprise.

"No."

"You've been Queen forever. You're going to give it all up two months before graduation?" Hazel asked.

"You want me to be Queen?" There was a flicker of faces, a nodding of heads. Blair slipped her yogurt into one hand, pulled her bag into the other and retook the top position. She didn't sit there at length; paused barely long enough to replace her bag when she said what she'd wanted to all along. "So I'm the Queen?" She waited for the repeat of nodding before delivering her final order. "Then I declare a republic," She said as she stood again. "Serena," She called back to the only one that truly mattered, felt lighter to leave the rest behind as she walked.

At 12:20 Blair had retaken the picnic table she'd started senior year with and gathered around the crowd of friends she'd long preferred.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart could hear his guest singing as he climbed the stairs. Aidan's bedroom was closest to the stairs, which were now guarded by a thick plastic baby gate. He stubbed his toe as he attempted to climb over it. It shouldn't have been that tricky. He was a tall man. The cook was preparing his dinner now, late hour churning his stomach to shreds. Bart slowed as he reached the room. The door was open, nightlight illuminating both mother and son. Aidan was tucked into his toddler bed, Lewis humming more than singing a lullaby. She didn't have the sort of voice to enthral. In fact, it was probably a voice that only her son could love but Lewis was enthralling none the less. Her bob fell forward as she dipped to kiss her son's cheek and Bart could feel his own heart swell at the display. He stood at the door and waited for her to turn. When she did her contented smile turned to something far more mystified. She looked quickly back to her son but he was already asleep. She waited, paused more moments than she needed to and then walked to meet the elder Bass. "Yes?" She said, befuddled expression not leaving her face.

Bart stared a moment, his own thoughts a bit chaotic. Then he recovered and said what he had planned to. "Have you eaten already? I mean, would you like to have dinner with me?"

Lewis stared blankly at the thought and Bart suddenly felt very nervous again. He didn't like the feeling. He rarely ever felt it. She stared at her watch. "I ate at seven."

Bart checked his own wrist. It was after nine now. He should have known she'd have eaten. Her son was asleep after all. "Of course. Nevermind." He turned to leave and Lewis shifted on her feet. She was still bouncing when Bart turned back. "If I were to be home by 8pm would you consider eating with me?"

"At eight?" She couldn't help her eyebrows from knitting further together. Bart remembered what they talked about. He really shouldn't be on her floor, nevermind inviting her down to eat with him. It's just that, he never did like eating alone. Lily had always waited for him. "Forget I asked."

She didn't. She answered "Eight sounds good," in a small voice instead.

Bart couldn't help but stand a bit taller as he walked out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was like someone had taken a coat of varnish to the television screen. There was a shine between the layers of glass that no number of blinks could clear. That was the moment Chuck realized how tedious television truly was. It ranked right up there with lazy afternoons and sober evenings. Time always stretched in an endless taunt, teasing his mind with the vague reminder that he'd never been this bored before. Chuck had felt it first at Clayton House but he'd never had to fill more than an hour there. They never warned him about the muted monotony that stretched endlessly through time. It was fine when Blair was home, when he was visiting Eric or Nate. It was different when he was alone.

Blair had her usual social calendar, filled to the brim with clubs, committees and fundraisers. She was particularly busy now, finalizing the details of the graduation ceremony and making arrangements for prom. What was Constance going to do when she graduated? She did the workload of five others. Blair had suggested he join the graduating committee. He laughed so hard he nearly fell into an apoplectic fit. The truth was that Chuck didn't even care about graduation anymore, or at least either trumped up ceremony. He'd only ever planned on both to appease his father, or to mark his last night of high school by getting as wasted as possible. Now he didn't have the first motivation and he wasn't entirely sure he could avoid the second. He was seriously considering skipping them both outright.

Then again, he'd take either of them right now over a rerun of Law and Order. He clicked off the television before the credits ran and put his head back. Chuck was having trouble sleeping. It wasn't being at the Waldorf house, he felt very comfortable here. He was just having trouble sleeping in general. The doctor had slapped side effect on his file and sent him along. It wasn't that big of a deal. He'd never slept that much anyway. Chuck felt Blair sink beside him before he heard her greeting. He opened his eyes and turned, sleepy smirk doing little to chase her irritated glare away. "Good meeting?" He teased.

"Why did they make Mr. Fraser graduation head? That man has all the charm of a…well a…he's horribly annoying!"

"What did he do this time?"

"He suggested we replace the string orchestra with the school band."

Chuck put his head back again to consider. "It'd be good for school spirit."

"Have you heard them?" Blair snapped. "All the good musicians graduated last year."

"Deep breaths Blair," Chuck teased. "Deep breaths."

She took three before she was calm enough to toss her hair back. Then she noticed her guest looked far worse than her. He had lines under his eyes that she hadn't seen days before. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Chuck said it softly and then smiled this grin she'd never seen before. There was sleepiness to it but also a boyish charm. Chuck always looked more mischievous tyrant than simple boy. But now, his lips were symmetrically but barely turned upward, hooded eyes completing the perfectly magnetic appeal. She was sure she liked it. So she laid her head on his shoulder and just stared a moment. That was the other strange thing. She always wanted to be touching him now, not like she had in the past but almost innocently. She'd stroke his arm, mess with his gelled hair or put her heels in his lap. He didn't seem to mind. She listened to his heartbeat and waited for something. "It's hard," He threaded through their calm. "I'm bored all the time. I don't know what to do."

"Surely there are things," Blair suggested. "Things that you can only do sober."

Chuck stood a little straighter at that. He hadn't considered it that way, from that angle. He'd been too busy listing the things he couldn't do to consider the things he might. "Thanks," Chuck offered along with a kiss on her head. He extracted himself delicately, grabbed his phone from the table and searched his contacts until he landed on Uncle Jack.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena knocked lightly at the Brooklyn door, pulled at her heavy bag while she waited. Even though it wasn't his apartment, Eric pulled the door open for her. "I hope you're not here for mom," Eric said first, kept one hand on the knob. Serena knew he'd half a mind to shut it in her face if she said yes. She wasn't planning to. Her brother had been at Damien's for four days already and she'd burned through the pleading after the first two days. Besides, Eric was on time for school every day, work done and life sorted to his usually level of excellence. There was no reason for panic.

"Can't I just visit my brother?

That earned her a wave in. Damien was at the kitchen stove, cooking something that might resemble dinner though it didn't smell like it. "He grew up with a cook too," Eric explained as Serena detoured around the unappetizing scent.

"Hey!" Damien was almost hurt. "This is better than your attempt at seafood spaghetti the other night."

"How was I supposed to know what devein meant?"

"What was your excuse for missing the deshelling part?"

"They serve mussels in the shell at all fine establishments."

"Crushed into hundreds of pieces?"

That had Eric surrendering the argument with a blush.

"I can't believe it," Serena mumbled.

"What. That I left?"

"No, that you tried cooking!"

"Don't you remember the 4th of July in '07?"

"Yeah. After we moved back to the States."

"Post divorce #3." Eric rolled his eyes.

"We spent the entire afternoon stuffing mushrooms."

"Mom burned more than half."

"She tried to order in two dozen to replace them."'

"Except they were bright yellow."

"I still remember how she tried to convince us it was a natural chemical reaction." Serena laughed. "She should have known better than to try that with you."

"Of course, I've always liked chemistry!" Eric sat back on the couch, kicked his heels to the table. "That was a good holiday."

"See, it's not all…"

"Don't even try," Eric stopped his sister before she could start. Serena gave up, tossed her bag on the thin couch instead, and pulled out a thick book. It was thick black except for her calligraphic name, which was embossed in gold leaf. "Are those your proofs?"

"Yeah," Serena bit at her fingernail in nervousness. "Could you look at them?" That was the original intent of this journey. She respected her brother's opinion.

Eric didn't need to be asked twice. He had the book open before Serena had fully relinquished it. His sister had paid a tidy sum to be shot by one of New York's top photographers. She'd done some modelling work in the past, but those photos were years out of date. Eric didn't say anything, neither hummed of paused as he flipped and that made Serena even more anxious. She chewed harder while Eric studied dimensions and lighting.

Damien tossed his kitchen towel to one shoulder, walked past the door and the calendar with the 18th circled in red. He met the other two in the living room. "What are those?"

"It's my portfolio" Serena said.

"For modeling," Eric finished. "She had an appointment next week."

"Hmmm," Damien studied with as artistic an eye as his boyfriend. "I didn't know you modeled for the GAP."

"Those aren't for the GAP," Serena started but when Damien asked again for confirmation she realized that's exactly what they looked like. The cute blonde on the end curled in a knitted scarf and skinny jeans. "Eric?" She cringed in anticipation of his confirmation.

"They are a bit cute," Eric admitted and Serena's hopes cracked a little. It was exactly what that photographer had said. Her face was too perfect, symmetrical and beautiful but without a single defining feature. She was like a thousand other pretty girls.

"All I see is blue eyes and blonde hair," Damien admitted.

"Part of that is the photographer's fault," Eric pointed out. "They're all straight shots, full light and the same smiling expression." It took a couple more minutes and a few more specific explanations from Eric before Serena fully understood what he was referring to. When she did, it was enough to make up her mind. "Eric," Serena pulled her nail away. "Will you shoot me?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Waldorf dinners were much like Waldorf breakfasts, family gathering around the smaller dining table, dishes spread from one corner to the other. Chuck had his mouth full with salmon mousse with the question came and was too well bred to speak with his mouth full. It let the others shovel his grave deep before he could retract. "What did Dr. Smith want today?"

Blair's eyes were on him immediately, her own fork put down from where it dangled. "Dr. Smith as in formerly Ms. Smith?"

"Yeah," Harold provided while Chuck chewed frantically. "That lovely blonde woman." He'd been a fan since Lewis had stayed with him and Roman in France. "She's been here every day this week."

"Every?" Blair could feel her jaw drop into undignified territory. "Chuck?" She tried to start neutrally but her jaw locked regardless. He gave a hard swallow and waited for it. "I didn't know she was in New York."

"She just finished her doctorate," Chuck finished with a gulp of water.

"And she's visiting the Wiltshires?"

"Actually, no."

"She's visiting you?" Blair wasn't sure she ought not to be jealous. I mean the woman was older but Chuck had wanted to sleep with her once.

"Not really," Chuck tried to formulate a plan of proceeding. "She's living with my dad."

"Excuse me," Blair's jaw dropped beyond undignified to fully unbecoming. "Did I miss a few pages of that story? Or the whole novel?"

"No, not like that." Chuck ran a hand through his hair. "My dad hired her."

"For what exactly?" _This was getting worse by the minute._

"Okay, maybe not hired. He's not paying her anything."

"Then I hope she's not doing anything."

"My father asked her to intervene between us."

"So she'd been here…"

"To try and sort things out between my father and I." Blair broke her eye contact at that. She took a forkful and chewed in contemplation. It gave her an excuse not to reply. She wasn't sure what she'd say. From her vantage the problem was twofold. Chuck had again chosen not to confide in her. Then again, he'd given no promise to. They were simply friends. "It doesn't change anything," Chuck whispered to her. That should have solved her other issue, the fear of him moving back. Perhaps it was selfish but Blair didn't want him to leave. She enjoyed having him here more than she'd predicted at the time she offered. Then it had been about protection and peace of mind but now it was something else. She took pleasure in returning to his sarcastic humour and sleepy smiles. "I'm not moving back," Chuck promised but Blair couldn't be sure anymore.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart almost reconsidered inviting Lewis down; if the moment in Aidan's bedroom was awkward than the beginning of dinner was almost intolerable. They exhausted the topic of Chuck within twenty minutes and then just sat quietly. Or at least it would have been quietly if Aidan wasn't over an hour past his dinner time and too close to his bedtime. He was cranky and agitated from the first moment, too tired to eat and too hungry to not. Lewis tried her best, spooned what her son usually did for himself. "He has an aversion to orange foods right now." She explained as Aidan gave a squeal of disapproval. Toddlers usually did. They worked their way through the rainbow in preference and loathing.

Bart made a mental note to exclude steamed yams next time. Lewis spooned another serving, raised it to Aidan's lips only to have a tiny hand shove it away. "Maybe you should eat," Bart suggested. "He'll eat when he's hungry."

Lewis nodded her head and handed the plastic spoon to her son. She didn't say much. The entire atmosphere was intimidating but she's pretty sure that Bart didn't mean it to be. The man was frightening by nature. It was easier to keep her eyes on her son so she did. She spoke only when directly questioned, rarely expanded on anything. It'd been easier to put Bart to task when she'd walked into his home rather than lived in it. Perhaps this had been a bad choice.

Aidan might have agreed because he chose that moment to demonstrate his disgust of orange yams. He piled as much as he could on his spoon, stared at it a moment and then flung it across the table. Lewis put a hand out far too late, could only stare in shock as the yams soared through the air and landed not only across Bart's face but across the lapel of his designer suit. She tried not to laugh, she really did. But it was Bart Bass! His nose was covered in orange and she was pretty sure the pale grey suit jacket was ruined forever. So she laughed but at least she had the decency to cover her mouth and turn away. She didn't turn back until the mirth had subsided to controllable giggles. Then she noticed something else. Bart was smiling too, a gorgeous grin that displayed two perfect dimples in its wake.

"Mommy! Pumpkin!"

That had them both laugh, a sort of joined humour that was far from unpleasurable. Bart wiped his face, removed the suit jacket and tossed it to the chair beside him. "You might want to give him a snack at 5pm." He suggested as he sat again. "Misty used to do that with Charles. I mean," He backtracked into uncertainty again. "If you would like to eat with me again."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate pulled at his tie until it was suitably crooked. It fit the rest of his typical presentation: his dress shirts were always a bit rumpled, one button always undone on his jacket and his shoes were always just a bit scuffed. It was the first sign he didn't fit in with his current company. His father was on a roll that night, gathered a half dozen Dartmouth graduates to discuss the virtues of that school. They weren't hard to find. This was one of the twice annual alumni gatherings in New York. It occupied both floors of his father's club, cigar smoking elders mixing with fresh faced new graduates. There were a few other students like him, those who were looking to make Dartmouth their school of choice. Except that he wasn't looking forward to it. He was trying to find a way to avoid it. He'd accepted the spot at Dartmouth but he'd also accepted the scholarship to UCLA. There was only one of him; he'd have to pick a dream sooner or later. So he dangled a glass of scotch and tried to figure out when he had traded places with Chuck. When he had become the source of his father's discontent. The thought was so disturbing that Nate slid the glass along the bar and asked for a beer instead. He'd have taken domestic in the bottle but this place was strictly imported in a glass. He weaved through the people and tried to avoid his father and his waving hands. He couldn't avoid for long. They were called in for dinner.

The dinner was four courses in length, catered by one of the finest restaurants in New York, with a line of black and white waiters to finish the overall feel. They worked in shifts through the large room, filling glasses and reading the squash and cream soup. Nate pushed back as it was served, he didn't even think to look at the server until he noticed the scent. It was a strange perfume, a richly full cranberry scent that was too tart to be truly feminine. It didn't need to be. It suited his former girlfriend perfectly. Vanessa didn't even acknowledge him, didn't exchange words or even a look. He wasn't surprised. They'd talked only once since he'd been tossed from her apartment and the context of that conversation wasn't one to inspire others. "Vanessa," He whispered as she pulled back. She didn't acknowledge him so he grabbed her arm. "Vanessa," He tried once he'd immobilized her.

"Excuse me," She said with as much sharpness as her perfume, pulled her arm back and continued down the line.

Nate watched her march up and down the line of guests, black curls restrained to the back of her head in a bun, slim body clothed in uniform. The white shirt and black vest couldn't hide her, the harshness of her hair styling only emphasizing her long cheekbones. She didn't smile like she always did at the coffee shop. She was more businesslike than he had ever seen her, quick, efficient, bordering on impolite. Nate wanted to know why. He needed to know why she was here at all, playing waitress for hire when she already had two other jobs. He waited for the second course, her chance to brush past him again. The chance didn't come with the second course. Vanessa traded with another server down the line and Nate was forced to accept the smoked salmon from a short redhead.

The Captain tried to draw him with a few more tales, his mother tried a few comments but he kept staring at Vanessa. Once his parents realized who he was occupied with they doubled their efforts but Nate didn't pay heed to it. He was waiting for the moment the kitchen door opened and Vanessa disappeared behind it. It took him to the third course but the moment it happened Nate made his own escape. He walked right into the kitchen, navy designer suit clashing with the row of black. He stared through the gathered heads, looking for his ex.

"Sir," One of the others stopped him. "You shouldn't be back here."

"I'm looking for one of your waitresses."

"Sir?"

"Curly black hair," Nate continued despite the disapproving look. "Beautiful violet eyes."

"Ah, Vanessa! She stepped out back."

Nate didn't thank her, just pressed past her to the nearby door. It led out to the fire escape, two stories of interlacing metal beams dangling from one side. He found her there, eyes staring into the evening traffic, functional heels tapping out a beat on each joist. She didn't look as he stepped out, didn't even notice it was him until he put his hands to the railing beside her. Then she rolled her eyes and glared harder outward, jaw tensing as she did. Nate didn't know what to say, he wasn't even sure why he'd chased after her. So he started the best he could. "What are you doing here?"

"Working," Vanessa snapped.

"Why?"

"Because some of us have rent to pay."

"Did you lose one of your jobs?"

"No, I just needed a little extra."

"Are you having trouble?"

"No. I'm fine."

Nate bounced once on his heels, oxford heel chiming on the metal, one awkward tone ringing out loud and clear. "Then why…"

"My sister moved back home."

Nate shook his head. He knew how much Vanessa relied on her sister's half to make her rent. It was one of those things Nate took for granted that she never could. "How short are you?"

"Goodnight Nate," Vanessa clipped rather than answering. She pushed off the railing and disappeared inside before he could wrap his mind around a reply.

Nate withdrew enough money to cover all the rent on the way home. He was pretty sure she'd refuse it on principal. He wasn't even sure he should offer but it was a simple thing for him. His monthly allowance could cover her rent twice. That was a sobering thought in and of itself. He flipped the envelope from side to side and considered. Then his phone beeped, reminded Nate that the 18th had come and he had other pressing concerns. So he sealed it and tossed it to the desk.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis crossed her arms tightly around her chest; wound a bound booklet through her fingers. The disapproval etched clearly through her small features. She stretched to her full height, a formidable height but still three inches short of the taller man. She tried to make the difference with her voice. "You need to visit with Chuck."

"I've tried," Bart promised. "Chuck has been very clear in his refusal to see me."

"Try harder," Lewis suggested. "Today."

Bart grabbed another shirt from his closet, threw it into his bag. "My jet leaves in less than an hour."

"Have you ever spent this day with him?"

Bart gave her just the briefest of looks; it was enough to answer her question in the negative. Lewis shook her head in agitation. "It's very important that you do."

"I have a meeting in London in less than sixteen hours," Bart said with a look at his watch.

"And did you schedule it on purpose?"

"I don't feel comfortable discussing this with you."

"You need to put your own grief aside," Lewis said with deliberate softness. "And help Chuck with his."

"I don't think you understand."

"I understand that when you have children their needs have to take precedence."

"I have to leave," Bart swore.

"You're the one who asked me for help," Lewis pointed out.

"And you are helping."

"I could help a lot more if you would listen to what I'm saying."

Bart hesitated at that, wavered in his determination; let his fingers linger over the zipper. It didn't last. He zipped twice as hard, as if he were trying to erase his earlier waver. "I will do whatever you ask me to," He promised. "Starting Monday."

It took effort for Lewis to hold the grunt of frustration back. She did the only thing she could. She took the four hundred page tome from her hands and threw it on top of his suitcase. "Then take his."

"What is it?"

"A copy of my thesis. I suggest it as light reading on your journey. Pay particular attention to pages 265 to 342. It's all about parental response."

Bart put a tongue to his cheek. He was tempted to say something but he didn't, he stuffed the book into the front instead.

"I put some notes in the side column," Lewis said as she turned. "Some little explanations to help you through the academic speak."

That nearly had him take it back out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair checked her watch again, stood outside Chuck's bedroom and contemplated her options. It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning and Chuck had yet to emerge to the land of the living. She understood why. It was the same reason he'd run slower through the last couple days. She'd catch him in moments where he'd stop and only stare, where his shoulders slumped or his eyes shut and she knew it was that time. She hardly needed the ring on the calendar but it was there anyway. They'd all circled it after that first year. Chuck had spent the first anniversary of his mother's suicide dangling from a water tower in Brooklyn with Marcus Anders. It was over a hundred feet high with small metal rungs hammered in sequence. They were barely large enough to stand on, nevermind climb while under the influence. It was very possible that the Non Judging Breakfast Club came into being the next morning, when Chuck had rambled erratically about his great evening and the rest of his friends had started in shocked dread. That's not even considering what Chuck had done the last year, when all his friends had abandoned him and he was left to face it alone. It was enough to circle that date twice.

Chuck was still in bed when she pushed the door open, body curled beneath the comforter and head turned from the door. He didn't stir when she walked in but it wasn't because he was sleeping. His head was too steady to the side, pupils focussing on the small digital alarm, hands fisted in the blankets. She called his name but he still didn't turn. She stayed standing in the middle of the room, toes curling into the thick carpeting and eyes studying him. "Would you like me to leave?" She asked after a time.

He didn't speak at first but he did shake his head in a slow turn from one side to the other. She stayed in the center of the room, permission to remain not transferring to purpose. Then he put it to words. "Stay," He finished in a throaty intonation and Blair nodded her head even though he wasn't turned to see it. She crept closer to his bed, sat with her legs curled beneath him and touched a hand his shoulder. His face was unreadable, appearing almost calm but fixated. His eyes were consumed by the numbers, the slow flicker of the day. She ran her hand further along his arm, a slow motion up and down that stopped only when he grabbed at it. When he wound his fingers through hers and pulled her closer. He didn't turn and she fell behind him. He wrapped his fingers more tightly, pressed her hand to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat beneath it. For all the stillness of his body the heart still ran. So she curled beside him, laid her body behind his and waited for his heart to match hers.

She's not sure how long they lay like that. It never felt that long when she was behind him, when their bodies touched each other. "I'm sorry Blair," Chuck broke the silence with a whisper to his pillow.

"Don't be," Blair said even though she didn't know what for. There was a list of options he could have picked.

"I really wanted to be there for you," Chuck swore. "I didn't want to break my promise but I didn't know what to do. What could I possibly have said? What advice could I have given when I'd let my own mother's death ruin my life."

Blair felt her breath catch at the words, whether it was the honesty or his simplistic way of expressing it. There were no words so she wrapped her arms more tightly through his instead. She buried her face into the small of back, the heat of her breath lulling him back to sleep and the scent of lemon helping her to find her own slumber.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – You like? Then hit review ;) pretty please?

Blair S - Yeah, I think the best part of Blair and Chuck is it's really a friendship first.

Ingridmarie – Yeah, I'm not a fan of Lily and that's coming through. I'll try to redeem her later. Will it stay happy? Depends on your definition of happy :)

oc-journey – Nate, Nate, Nate. He's one shifting character in my mind but he is focussed on Blair right now.

Verybad4u – Eric as me? Hmm, possibly as I had a huge problem with Eric inviting Jenny to the White Party after she did what she did and Lily messing around with Rufus without even considering her kid's feelings. Jenny and Eric's friendship is starting to improve in my mind but it just felt like she was using him for the longest time. Eric is OCC but he's kind of grown into this new character (with backbone) starting at TH.

annablake – I hope you accepted Chuck's apology since I know you had huge issues with what he did to her. As for the back story, I had to figure a way to wind all the different things I'd written through the other two stories. I think we have the whole history now.

CBEBIW trory12 – Yeah, Blair was definitely beyond the queen thing. That's why she went back to the picnic table she'd started YCFYF at.

BrittyKay – Thanks ;) I love CB scheming too. They're going to get another chance.

hiddenletter – Yeah, I needed some more fluffy stuff too.

Up Next – Some old flames can turn to friends but what do you do with the spark if it isn't extinguished yet?


	41. Chapter Sixteen Part Three

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Sixteen – Part Two  
**

As Nate added the last column of numbers, he decided that he was the worst best friend to have ever lived. It was nearly noon and he'd yet to leave his own home. He pushed the Algebra text aside and felt the guilt mingle with his own hesitation. He just didn't want to go to the Waldorf penthouse to visit with Chuck. Nate had spent considerable time with his best friend since Chuck's return but it was always either at the Archibald residence or on otherwise neutral territory. That would end today and Nate's not sure he wanted it to. He was resigned. He grabbed at his blazer, slipped it on and tried for the door. He made it halfway before he turned back to his room, rolled a joint and slipped it into his pocket. He was going to need reinforcement.

When he opened the door to the family townhouse, Nate had another reason for wishing he'd hurried. It thudded directly into Vanessa and when he saw her flashing eyes Nate knew he was in trouble. He stepped back into the house as she advanced on him, waving his envelope through the air. "How dare you!"

"What?" Nate tried for unaffected cool but the wince undid it.

"Send your servant over to my house with an envelope of cash."

"I was just trying to help you out."

"I don't need your help," Vanessa said and flung it on the entrance table.

"You know that's not true. You wouldn't be playing waitress for hire if you didn't."

"I'm handling it. I don't need anything from you."

"We're going to have to get past what happened between us."

"Why? I think I'm pretty happy dwelling right in it."

"Just take the money," Nate grabbed it back off the table and held it out.

"Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?"

"What? No."

"Then why are you throwing money at me?"

"Because you need it," Nate tried again. "Listen, just consider it a loan, you can pay me back."

"A loan?" That seemed to calm the brunette down and proved to Nate just how desperate she must be. Nate had figured she would never accept it.

"How many months ago did you sister move out?" He asked with sudden concern.

Vanessa glared at him and then the envelope. She considered her options without answering his question, grabbing the white packet at last. "It's just a loan," She said. Nate couldn't help but smile in relief, a boyish smile that Vanessa had loved once upon a time. "Don't smile at me," She snapped on her way out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena checked her watch incessantly while she waited for the elevator doors to close. She was late and her brother was going to be even later. He'd shot her that morning, with the sun rising over Central Park. Eric still had the photographs to develop. The doors were nearly closed when a familiar hand forced them open again. Serena hit the button to allow Nate entrance. He dashed in, rumpled slacks and falling hair. "Hey," He nodded his head at the blonde.

"You're late," Serena chastised and Nate turned a little red.

"So are you."

"Eric is going to be later."

"He's got to commute from Brooklyn."

"Yeah."

"How is that going?"

"What?"

"Your mom's great attempt to get him back?"

Serena took a deep breath at that. It was enough to answer the question but she explained further. "They're at a standstill. My mother refuses to give up Rufus and Eric refuses to move home if she doesn't."

"Isn't that a bit much for Eric to ask?"

"I think Eric is afraid of what things will be like next year. His entire circle of friends is leaving for college and he doesn't want to be alone with the Humphreys."

"Oh," Nate kicked at the side of the elevator. He'd forgotten that Eric didn't really have friends within his own age bracket. "How about his boyfriend?"

"He's still planning to go to Oxford in the fall."

"But if you get a modelling contract you'll be home more often," Nate said.

"If I don't get a long contract like Kathy. She's in Hong Kong for over six months."

"Maybe he could patch things up with Jenny." Nate proposed and Serena snorted.

"I wouldn't suggest that to him."

"How are _you_ handling it? I mean Dan being over all the time."

"I don't know. It's kind of weird."

"Have you talked about what happened?"

"We barely talk at all." Serena admitted. They'd started out well, could carry conversations about the things that had happened since their separation last year. Those topics had since been extinguished and now they mostly sat around and avoided discussion outright.

"Have you told him how you feel?"

"It's kind of hard to do while my mother and his father are stealing kisses in the kitchen."

"You should just do it," Nate decided. "Who cares what your parents are doing? Based on your mom's history it'd only be awkward for a few years anyway."

That thought made Serena giggle into the opening chime. She stepped first into the Waldorf penthouse. Everything was in place, the calla lilies decorated the entrance table, the floors were buffed to sheen but no one was around. There were no voices, the lower floors were unoccupied and Dorota was no where to be seen. "Do you think they went out?" Serena asked. Nate just shrugged. Serena took out her phone and considered calling until Dorota appeared from the back, apron on and cleaning brush still in hand. She removed both to the side table to meet her guests.

"Are Blair and Chuck here?" Serena started first.

"Miss Blair and Master Chuck still sleeping," Dorota explained. It had both blondes checking their watches.

"Blair is sleeping past noon?" Nate asked in disbelief.

Dorota shook her head.

"Let's go wake her up," Serena decided with a pull on her friend's arm. Nate followed only after he suggested it was a bad idea. They turned left at the upper landing only to hear Dorota's voice from below.

"They are both in Master Chuck's room."

That had both blondes freezing instantly. Dorota disappeared into the back again and the two friends debated their options. "Do you think that means?" Nate began and then trailed off.

"It's Chuck," Serena pointed out.

"So should we?"

"We could be wrong."

"What are the chances of that?"

"What are the chances that Dorota wouldn't be beating them both with a broom if it was that?" Serena reminded him.

That was true. Dorota was almost puritanical in her beliefs. "Can you go first?" Nate asked. "Just to check if they have their clothes on."

Serena supposed she ought to. She wasn't emotionally invested either way. Despite her neutrality, Serena still slowed by the door, opened it as silently as she could, and visible cringed before she took a quick look. Once she saw them her entire face relaxed, grimace turning to bemused smile. They were adorable. Sometime during the morning Chuck had turned to face the ceiling and Blair had wrapped herself tightly through him. Their legs were intertwined and her head had fallen naturally to his shoulder, chestnut curls blanketing his neck and stripped pyjamas. They looked like a couple in love, smiles matching even while asleep.

Nate guessed what Serena had found by her face. She'd hardly be ogling that long if either had been naked. So Nate stepped beside her, followed her eyes. He didn't find the scene so adorable. All the air evaporated from his lungs the moment he saw it, the green monster that he'd beat back so incessantly the last few weeks grew exponentially, twisted through his gut and nearly brought tears to his eyes. Serena saw it. She gave him a squeeze that so didn't help.

"I need some fresh air," Nate said as he turned away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck could feel her the instant his eyes reopened, small body melding through his, arms and legs entangled and hair tickling his nose. He felt the butterflies before he even turned, they multiplied over her eyes, the delicate dip of her chin, and the peaceful expression that always turned her lips slightly upward. They'd woken up like this a hundred times but it felt new: the six dividing months sweeping away the history and turning every moment into an original. Or maybe it was just because he felt new, like he'd gotten a second chance at everything in life.

He shifted gently to face her, buried his face into the pillow and just stared. It was easy to do then, when she was sleeping and he didn't need to explain himself. It was also a dangerous choice, because the more he stared the more he wanted to touch her or kiss her and he was pretty sure he shouldn't. He couldn't help himself from staring. He watched it all, the soft flutter of her eyelashes as she started to awaken, the way her controlled breaths barely caused her chest to rise or her cheeks to fill. It made him smile, even though he'd never smiled on this day without the addition of pot or alcohol.

That thought made him touch her, just gently across her cheek, so delicately that he barely caused her to stir. She shifted just once, then he touched her again and those lashes started their slow climb to life. Chuck withdrew his hand before her eyes focussed but he still couldn't turn away. His eyes melted into hers as she smiled. "Good morning Chuck," She whispered into their small divide and Chuck became keenly aware of how small it was.

"Good morning Blair," He whispered as easily but still found himself edging backward, trying to reclaim some distance before his hand went back to her hair, or his lips crept across the last few inches.

"What time is it?" Blair mumbled.

"It's after noon."

That centered Blair to day. She put her hand on his shoulder but this time it was to push upward and check the clock behind. "Everyone's going to be here already," She announced and threw herself off the opposite end.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate kicked his foot against Blair's building, took a deep drag of polluted smoke and blew outward. He was trying to calm down but it wasn't working. No matter how many pretty speeches he wove through his mind, he was still envious. He couldn't make the feeling turn off, it didn't matter how much smoke circled around his head. He was slowly being consumed from the inside.

Was it so wrong to want things like they used to be? To want to rewind two years and start over? Two years ago he'd been the one with Chuck. That's how this day was supposed to go, before the cheating, the break ups and attempts at sobriety. Nate and Chuck started the day at 1812 with enough pot to make the rest of the day blur through. Chuck would follow that with enough scotch to fell a horse but would still manage to beat Nate at every video game they played. Blair would come by later, bring Serena and a movie to replace their, by then, ineffectual attempts at Mortal Kombat. Blair would chastise him before winding her feet through _his_ lap. Chuck would trade peeks down Serena's always low cut shirts with crudely worded suggestions that the other two just have sex already.

What was wrong with that?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena watched Chuck talk into the wall, eyes surveying the cabinets as he spoke with his uncle. She waited at the door as he gathered two bags of potato chips and as many bowls. "I trust you judgement," Chuck said. "I'll finance whatever bid you think is acceptable. I'll fly down Wednesday to tour the site. Don't worry about it. No, I trust you. See you Wednesday," He finished and tossed his phone on the cabinet.

"You're going out of town?" Serena started.

Chuck turned, surprised to see her there. "Yeah, to Seattle."

"To visit your uncle?"

"We're starting a project together."

"Another one?" Serena asked.

"It's a bit different," Chuck admitted. He and his uncle had been involved in many smaller projects since the first in Vancouver. Mostly they'd taken advantage of the economic downturn to buy out nearly completed buildings. They were quick transactions, nothing long term or complicated, just a chance to turn profit and they'd both done considerably well. Chuck had been right about his uncle. Jack McFayden wasn't content as an intermediary between feuding families and once he'd gotten a taste of his old life he was sunk. His uncle had been bothering him to try something more complex but Chuck kept turning him down. If he was honest, Chuck was just a bit scared to take on a project from commencement. It was a lot more intricate and a lot more work and Chuck wasn't sure he was ready. But that was before he needed something to occupy his thoughts and his time.

"Like how?"

"We're building a five tower complex on the West Coast," Chuck felt the trickle of nervousness as he said it.

"Wow," Serena raised both brows. "My bro….friend the industrialist! Does Bart know?"

"I imagine he does."

"Have you talked to him?"

"No."

Serena went to the fridge and grabbed the cans of pop. She wanted to offer her own advice but she was pretty sure Chuck wouldn't take it. So she changed topics instead. "Jenny told me what you said to her," Serena said and Chuck dipped down to hid behind the open cabinet.

"It was nothing."

"It was truly decent," Serena countered. "I'm proud of you."

Chuck came back up, unneeded third bowl in hand. He felt a little buoyant to have gained her approval but it did bring up their own history. He considered brushing it aside again but he doubted he'd get another chance. So he dove in head first. "I wouldn't have done that to you," He promised. It was true. With her, at some point he would have stopped. She was Serena Van der Woodsen after all, and they'd been friends since five.

Serena's relieved smile proved that she hadn't been so certain.

"I am sorry," Chuck offered with a look downward again. "Do you think you can…?"

"I forgave you the next morning," Serena said simply.

"How?"

"Because I remember how many times you stopped _that_ from happening," Serena pointed out. That was also true. He'd dragged her drunken body into his limo more than once, not to do his own mischief but to stop other mischief from happening to her.

"So we're good?" Chuck asked in disbelief.

"We were always good," Serena winked and Chuck tossed the extra bowl down below, shut the cabinet with more lightness that he'd felt in, well, perhaps ever.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck just smiled the seventh time he beat Nathaniel. He'd gone through his full repertoire of teasing by then, now he was almost embarrassed by how much better he was at Wii. "I give up," Nate said as he tossed the controller. "At least I could beat you once or twice when you were hammered!" Nate said wistfully. He sucked it back once he realized what exactly he had said and saw the flicker of unease that crossed Chuck's face.

"My turn!" Eric grabbed at it and Chuck knew his winning streak was about to turn to a losing one. It was okay. Everyone needed to be humbled now and again.

Serena and Blair were flipping through Seventeen Magazine, regular pages of fashion pre-empted by sequences of prom dresses and jewellery. "Look at this," Serena pointed to a golden frock. It was entirely to her taste, all ruffles and glittering sequins.

"I think I saw something like that at Berdorfs."

"Shopping trip tomorrow?" Serena suggested as she turned the page.

"Whoa," Nate stopped them both before Serena could flip further. "Look at that." It wasn't often that Nate could find something to taste in a girl's magazine (besides the models) but this wasn't some frilly dress or a gathered collection of diamonds. It was the newest edition of the Hummer stretch limo, complete with strobe lights, full surround sound, fibre optic lighting, laser lights and a mirrored ceiling.

The three exchanged only one glance before they nodded their heads together. "We should so rent that," Serena put it to words and the others agree. Chuck was the only one who remained silent. He was too busy trying to outdo his faster brother. He fought valiantly but Eric emerged victorious all the same.

"Hey Chuck," Blair offered at the pause. "You want to rent a stretch Hummer with us?"

"For what?"

"Prom."

That had Chuck put his controller down and turn to his friends as he gathered his thoughts. "No," He said simply.

"Really?" Nate grabbed the magazine from his blonde counterpart. "Are you sure? This thing is awesome," He held the page up for Chuck to study.

"It's not that." Chuck admitted. "I've decided not to go to prom."

"Are you kidding me?" Blair's mouth dropped in shock.

"Chuck Bass is going to miss the biggest party of our lives?" Nate chimed in.

Chuck arched one brow at that and the rest understood. That's exactly why he was choosing to avoid it.

"You don't have to…" Blair tried.

"It's for the best," Chuck said firmly before turning back to the screen. "Rematch?" He asked his brother while the rest gathered their wits about them.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Are you sure you want to go back to England?" Eric tried to ask it with as much detached neutrally as he could. It could have been convincing if it wasn't the third time he'd asked since the Sunday prior. He'd asked the first day, when they had woken up to sun streaming through the curtained windows. It decorated Damien's boyish features and made Eric realize just how much he would miss him when he went. The second time he asked was when they were hanging out with Chuck. They'd tried bowling. Chuck was positively dreadful. It took five rounds before he rolled his first strike. Damien had been merciless in his taunting to which Chuck could only reply that it was logical, Chuck Bass never struck out. Eric was so happy that the two had put aside their acrimony to find a sort of friendly chatter. He didn't want that to end so he had asked again. Eric wasn't sure why he was asking this time. They were just sitting on the sofa, Eric reading through his list of French vocabulary and Damien tinkering with charcoals. It wasn't any kind of special moment but maybe that's what made it important.

"I do," Damien said. "I'm overwhelmed by the response I've gotten to the show but I know I still have a lot to learn."

Eric shook his head. His boyfriend never talked about the logistics of his return, just muttered on about the art program he was enrolled in. In fact, Damien didn't talk much about his home at all, his family at least. He talked about returning to England. He missed his country.

"You still want to go to Cambridge right?" Damien asked.

"Yes."

Damien nodded his head slowly, looked away with obvious distress. Eric was glad their pending separation was affecting the other boy. Otherwise he wouldn't be sure Damien cared at all. Excepting the break in the middle, Eric and Damien had been dating less than a year. A lot had happened in that year but it was still only months. Eric supposed it wasn't enough to bank a future on when the lovers were sixteen and eighteen respectively. Especially when Damien had yet to even admit he loved him. It was far too much to rely on. "Do you think…" Damien started but the doorbell interrupted. The Brit jumped up with too evident relief. It doubled Eric's misgivings.

Eric watched him go, waited for the visitor to be shown in. Damien didn't open the door; he gave one look through the peephole and turned back to his boyfriend. "You might want to take this one."

"Is it my mother?" Eric asked but Damien shook his head. That made Eric curious. He stepped from the couch and met Damien at the door. He peered through the hole, jaw turning firm when he saw who it was.

Rufus Humphrey was framed in a perfect circle.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair had written rough calculations all over the paper by the time she noticed Chuck was reclined against the doorway. She was encamped in her mother's study, examining the latest financial statement from Eleanor Waldorf Designs. Things were progressing with the summer line and she needed to sign off on purchase orders but she couldn't understand them. Cyrus usually sat with her and helped her through them but he was in Washington. He'd been gone a week already, eldest daughter giving birth to his first grandchild. Blair was not a stupid girl but she couldn't make the numbers balance. She added the columns in every possible way but there was something wrong. She tried to figure out the accountant's mistake but no matter how she looked at it, the answer evaded her.

"You look disturbed," Chuck offered from where he stood. He waited for Blair to wave her forward which she did instantly.

"I don't get this!" Blair admitted with a huff of frustration.

"They're financials."

"I know that," She snapped. "There's something wrong with them." She pointed to the relevant sections and Chuck's eyes scanned her calculations. He saw what she did, possibly before she even could. He had a mind for numbers after all.

"This is really high," Chuck pointed at two columns on the right.

"That's for materials," Blair explained. "And advertising."

"Materials are usually that high?"

Blair grabbed at her folder, dug out the last couple monthly statements. They searched through them together, matched the budgeted to actual, tried to find the pattern there.

"Something is definitely wrong," Chuck agreed.

"I thought the accountant had mistallied but if he did then why does it balance in the end?"

"I don't know," Chuck mumbled with a look at the bottom. "Can you leave this with me for a bit?"

"With you?" Blair muttered in disbelief.

"My dad did teach me a thing or two," Chuck muttered right back, kind of offended that she would doubt him.

"Okay."

"Just give me an hour or two," Chuck promised and Blair relinquished her seat. She stood beside him for a bit but Chuck was hard to follow. He didn't need to write numbers down, he could do the math in his head and after about thirty minutes he got frustrated with her constant questions. It took another ten before Blair decided to trust Chuck with her mother's prized possession. She left him to prove her right.

Chuck was pretty sure he was sunk two hours later. He had no doubt that something was wrong but he couldn't figure out what it was. It didn't matter how he reorganized the numbers in his head, how he applied logic or tried to think like his father, he couldn't figure out the answer. He might have had Bart Bass for a father but he was still a teenager with limited business experience. He'd overextended himself.

The thing is he didn't want to disappoint Blair. She hadn't relied on him for a very long time and he wasn't about to squander the opportunity by coming up empty handed. So he took his phone out, tapped it lightly against the desk and debated his options. He measured Blair's disappointment against his own needs. It was a simple thing if he chose it. Bart would know the answer within twenty minutes but getting it would involve speaking with his father and probably being in the same room with him. He quantified Blair's brown eyes in relation to his father's stern disapproval. The answer was simple. Blair always won out.

So he dialled the number, waited through a single ring before he heard his father's familiar intonation. It almost had him slamming the phone shut. He controlled himself, balanced his heart rate with a deep breath. "Father," He clipped formally. "I could use your help with something."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Wow, it's so much easier and faster to write fluff. _

_Kimberly – Yeah, Chuck and Blair stand out for me too. I just like them more than any of the other characters individually (though Eric matches Blair for me) and as a couple they're amazing._

_Verybad4U – I'm glad you like Bart-Lewis. I thought they'd be cute together. You'll see them together with Chuck next post. I agree that they ruined Vanessa-Nate. I really don't understand why they broke up the first time and then they go ahead and do it again so I'm left thinking that Nate never really liked Vanessa. It's the only excuse for two meaningless break ups. Which makes me sad because I actually ship NV :(_

_CBEBIW trory12 – Yeah, Chuck does need to be with his family._

_xoxogg4lifexoxo – thanks ;)_

_annablake – Yeah, I hate what they did to CB in the show. But I'm hoping the next episode they start to fix things already (loved the promo) If you like jealous Blair than you'll get a few more hits of fun ;) Yeah, CB aren't really having in depth conversations right now. That could become a significant issue! _

_oc-journey – Eric knows what Chuck's 'diagnosis' is and what meds he's on. They haven't told the readers (or any other characters) yet but it will come up eventually._

_Madeleinex - Yeah, another new reviewer :) I love Eric, I've been whining since S1 that he needed a good storyline (just think how awesome All About My Brother was and Chuck wasn't even in it)._

_BrittyKay – Yeah, that's the strength of CB, they can truly get each other in the end I think._

_Richanna – How long with Nate let them be happy together…hmm, yeah, Nate's going to be a problem._

_Ingridmarie – Bart is going to take Lewis' advice starting from the beginning of next chapter. I think you will all like it._

_Voodoochild – Yeah, another reviewer. Don't worry about the English issue, I teach lots of ESL students and we all have to start somewhere (you'd laugh at my attempts at foreign languages). I'm glad you're enjoying it._

_Up Next – You've seen a new Chuck, are you ready to see a new Bart…errr or I guess it could be considered an old Bart? Rufus tries to get Eric on board but he might end up getting shoved overboard instead. Serena makes a change._


	42. Chapter Seventeen Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Seventeen – Part One**

_April 19, 2009_

_Serena has said more than once that she feels a slave to her emotions. I used to consider it the easiest escape put to words. If we are enslaved then we are not responsible for our actions. I used to think that no feeling could overwhelm common sense. I tried to hide behind it you see. I tried to be cynical because being emotional was too draining._

_That was before last year. Now I understand what Serena was trying to say. But I still don't believe that feelings can bind us. I think they can wrench us from the better path. They can tug and jerk and yank but the final choice is always ours. We can choose to be enslaved by an emotion or not. So why chose slavery when all passions are only temporary. _

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric pushed a cup of tea across the table to his mother's lover. Damien had made himself scarce the moment Rufus entered. Perhaps it was the conflict of interest; Rufus was still Damien's patron for a least a few more weeks. Or maybe it was because Lily had already been by three times and Eric's boyfriend had a pretty good idea how this was going to end.

Staring at the older man, Eric couldn't understand what was so special about him. He was attractive enough if you didn't mind the whole flannel wearing, throwback to the early 90's sort of feel. Apparently Lily preferred it to business casual. Still, Bart hadn't been repellent and in financials, well, there was hardly a comparison. Then again, neither wealth nor looks were essentials in Lily's flings, at least not concurrently. The tennis instructor she cheated on his father with had been handsome if not blatantly stereotypical. If they weren't trading clichés (his father had been screwing his secretary), Eric would have been genuinely offended for Benjamin's sake. At least Lily had never married that one but she had married Montgomery Webb, despite the fact that the man was round enough to resemble an M&M. Eric doubted Lily regretted it. That divorce left them with enough money to clothe Eric's great grandchildren in Prada onesies. That's how his mother operated; some for looks and others for money. It's why Bart should have been perfect because he had enough of both.

And Rufus Humphrey? He was the definitive proof that perfect didn't, wouldn't and couldn't exist. Lily wasn't a die hard romantic searching for her idealized partner; his mother was simply fumbling through the present with a vague idea of tomorrow. She was defective and Eric was done standing in front of her cracks with a smile.

"Eric," The older man began.

"Mr. Humphrey."

"Please. Call me Rufus."

"Why are you here Mr. Humphrey?"

That turned Rufus' attempt at a smile to a muted line. "You mother is very worried about you. She misses you very much."

"Apparently not enough," Eric pointed out. All she had to do was leave Rufus alone until Eric was at Cambridge. It was only two years!

"I know you're opposed to Lily and I." Rufus laid his hands across the table. "But you should know that she and I love each other deeply."

Eric crossed his arms to counter Humphrey's open ones, layered his cynicism to match the other man's optimism.

"I have been in love with Lily since I was a teenager. That ought to say something for us."

"I'll admit; the whole digging through history is a bit of variation from usual protocol. I guess there wasn't anyone interesting at her usual cocktail functions."

"It's not like that," Rufus promised but Eric just crossed those arms tighter. "We are different. I know you're afraid of Lily marrying again…"

"You think I care about that?" Eric snorted. "My mother could outdo Elizabeth Taylor; she could create a commune and form her own harem for all I care. That's not what I care about. I don't want to go through yet another divorce before I'm done high school."

That made Rufus relax, smile returning to his lips as his shoulders unwound. "You shouldn't worry about that. It won't happen to us. Lily and I are different."

"You know," Eric smiled as well but it wasn't so calm. "For some reason that sounds so familiar. Oh yeah, now I remember! Husband number two gave the same speech, privately to both Serena and I just before that wedding. I didn't believe it anymore then."

"Eric."

"You think this is the first time one of my mom's suitors had a sit down with me?" Eric raised one eyebrow in pity. "For the record, husband number three's speech was so much better. I think he actually called her Athena reborn, positively heart warming," Eric rolled of his eyes.

"I can understand your scepticism."

"Can you?"

"You mother doesn't have the best track record but this is different."

"Are you actually that stupid?" Eric finally spat.

"Excuse me."

"My mother has been married four times, she's been engaged at least a half dozen more and, with the exception of my father, none of them have lasted more than four years."

"She's made her mistakes…"

"_And_ each marriage is getting progressively shorter."

"I love your mother."

"Then you truly are that stupid." Eric dumped his tea cup into the sink and waved his visitor to the door. Rufus considered rearming himself, battling onward but he didn't want to push Eric further the other way.

"You shouldn't talk about your mother that way." He said softly in surrender.

"Why not?" Eric stared straight at the older man, blue darkened to ash and eyes cut to slits. "She'll tire of you as easily as the others."

"I don't think you understand…" Bart started one last offensive as he left.

"At least Bart had enough common sense to skip the speech," Eric threw out as his last parry.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

There was ivy crawling through the thick woodwork on the front. Chuck wondered how it grew on such a newly completed building and why he'd never noticed it before. He never saw the metal artwork that decorated the set of steps, or realized that the house was actually cream and not white. He wondered about a lot. Like how a request for help had morphed into an invitation to dinner. He wondered why he had agreed. He could remember saying yes. Lewis had used a blend of suggestion and muted force. Chuck was starting to understand her way to compliance without compulsion. She simply lead you alone a path until you ended at her destination still half believing it was all your idea. She'd been trying to lead him daily. She called right before her run at 7am every morning and spoke to him for over an hour. Chuck never refused to see her. In fact, by the second week he'd grown to enjoy their discussions. He'd let her influence him. That might have been why he was here.

Or maybe it was the way his father called only once daily, recorded one polite voicemail and left everything else up to him. It was a lot like respect. It was easy to believe that Lewis was influencing Bart too.

"Mr. Bass," The servant intoned on entrance, pulled at his jacket as Chuck passed. Chuck held his briefcase tighter; he needed the reminder of why he was there.

Chuck noticed the little plastic handle as the servant closed the door. It was the first evidence that Bart was not living alone. The second was the laughter, too light and airy to belong there. It carried through the entire lower floor, met by another deeper chuckle. The mixing sound took Chuck several months back and changed his apprehension to something else. "Where is my father?" Chuck asked even though he could have followed the sound.

"In the kitchen sir."

"In?" Chuck raised one brow but the servant didn't dispute his earlier information.

Chuck took a look at his shoes before he kicked them off. The floors heated the pads of his feet as he inched forward. He'd kind of expected to be met at the door but based on the spirited conversation coming from his left he wondered if they'd even heard the knock.

"You do even know what a triangle looks like?" Lewis asked. "That thing with three sides that you had to draw in preschool?"

"My parents couldn't afford to send me to preschool," Bart bantered right back.

"That's too bad. Imagine how smart you could have been if they did."

"Hey, I only had to call you once for help with your thesis."

"Then what was that other phone call for?"

That left Chuck smirking before he even entered the kitchen. When he saw the

rest he traded the smirk for an outright smile. Bart was quite literally up to his elbows in something green. Well, to be honest, only his hands were actively in the ingredients, the rest had dried upward. He'd not only abandoned his suit jacket, but actually rolled his sleeves as well. Lewis stood by his side, cream skirt floating attractively around her thin thighs as she moved, matching tank decorating her tanned neck. She was cutting square shapes from a yellow sheet of pasta and based on the oddly shaped finished products, Bart was responsible for the rest. Aidan was sitting in his high chair to one side, happily banging out the accompanying rhythm with a wooden spoon. It was positively endearing, so much so that Chuck had a suspicion they'd staged the whole thing. The suspicion died when his father caught sight of him and his amused expression turned anxious. Bart grabbed for the towel, tried to wipe off his hands but everything was caked through. He eventually made for the kitchen sink and washed properly.

"I didn't realize this was a make your own dinner kind of establishment," Chuck offered in greeting.

"Would you like to help?" Lewis suggested.

"Are you kidding me?"

"It might be fun."

"That's what servants are for," Chuck drawled. "Or at least that's what my dad always says."

"Really?" Lewis arched her brow at Bart.

Bart scrubbed a bit harder, chased away the last tinges of green. "I didn't always have servants," Bart defended himself as he turned back. "Who do you think did the cooking when I lived in a one bedroom walk up at NYU?"

Chuck took one more look at the pesto and the pasta. "I'd say mom."

Bart smiled at first because, let's face it, it was true. Then he remembered exactly who he was discussing and the smile turned over to something far less jovial.

"If you help us," Lewis weaved through the first uncomfortable silence; "we might actually be having dinner before nine."

"Can't do," Chuck insisted again. "I just bought the suit." It was bright yellow with a perfectly contrasting mustard shirt. He was fond of the combination already.

"Why?" Bart said before he could think to stop himself. Chuck froze on instinct, waited for the instinctual wash of offence. His father had commented more than once on his _creative wardrobe_ but it didn't feel like an insult that time. Maybe it was the teasing tone, or just the fact that his father was smiling again. Bart had been smiling nearly the entire time, dimples pulling through. It was disconcerting. Chuck felt the urge to ask if his father had been put on happy pills too.

It pulled him apart, one side wanting to flee and the other to stay forever. "Besides," Chuck chose the first side. "I have an appointment at 10pm." He checked his watch. It was the reason he'd picked a Tuesday.

"Then you'd better hurry," Lewis held out an apron.

Chuck stared at the white slip of cloth, withstood the suggestion for at least one more minute. He couldn't persevere longer. Despite what he'd teased, Chuck could remember cooking with his parents. They were some of his earliest and fondest memories. He assumed he had mentioned it to Lewis at some point, probably while hammered except he couldn't recall every speaking to her while fully intoxicated. He'd make the story in his mind. It was easier to believe the whole display was feigned rather than genuine.

Despite his suspicions, Chuck still took off his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves to match his father's and followed Lewis' quick tutorial. It was as awkward as Chuck assumed it must be; all of Bart's affable humour dying as Chuck took his place beside. Lewis acted the part of intermediary to perfection, prompted through the silences and kept them in neutral territory. The Basses traded business stories, discussed the news, grasped at anything that wasn't personal. They managed to stand for a half hour, to trade stories without an inching of judgement or disagreement.

Then Helga came into the room. She was Aidan's nanny (another Wiltshire expense) and had come to ready the toddler for bed. The idea was enough to spread the panic. Both Basses froze, waited to see if Lewis would accompany her son upward. The instant her footsteps turned towards the stairs conversation stopped. Bart held his breath in dread, openly enough for his son to notice. It comforted the younger Bass. It made his father a little more human. "You really do need a refresher in triangle formation," Chuck offered as a bridge once she left.

Bart took a look at his son's pan and shook his head. "Because yours are so much better?"

"They're triangles."

"With almost nothing in them," Bart pointed out.

"Still better than your leaking rectangles," Chuck said smugly.

"So you say."

When Lewis returned she circled their hard worked collection three times and frowned. "I'll order Chinese." she suggested to their mutual chagrin.

"Chinese?" Bart echoed first.

"You mean I ruined a $300 silk shirt for nothing?" Chuck muttered.

"$600 slacks," Bart bettered his son.

"Sorry boys," Lewis said it smugly. She could. She didn't have a spot on her.

"How come you're not dirty," Chuck asked suddenly.

"Because I know what I'm doing?"

"Come to think of it," Bart began. "She didn't even touch the pesto."

"It's bright green!" Lewis pointed out.

Chuck and Bart's eyes met only once over the silver bowl, one look mischievous and the other determined. "It matches your eyes," Chuck pointed out.

She got the hint pretty quickly, started to back away from the counter. She only made it three steps when she was pelted by two fistfuls of green. The squeal carried almost far enough to wake her son but neither of the Basses felt guilty. They grabbed more instead, kept tossing until Lewis, along with the kitchen, was streaked in green. At some point the laughter started. Chuck wasn't sure who laughed first, but he was pretty sure it wasn't Lewis. The Bass men were able to lob long strips of pasta before Lewis fought back. She snatched at the kitchen sink, oily fingertips grabbing for the tap, pulling the nozzle from its holder. She spun around, held it out in front of her and dared either of them to attack further. She should have thought it through. There were two of them and only one of her.

She managed to dampen both as they advanced, but they combined to drench her through. Chuck held her arms down while Bart soaked her until the floor ran through with green, until her floating skirt and shirt were reduced to a sodden mess and you could clearly see her purple negligee through what was left of the pale cream fabric. That's when Chuck remembered what he'd noticed about her first. Lewis might have been in her thirties but most teenagers didn't have a body like that.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate entered the Waldorf penthouse with a sort of resigned acceptance, elevator chime sounding his walk to torment. He'd been there a few times since the Saturday prior, had worked to beat that green-eyed monster back down to manageable levels. That was before Blair rushed to the door first, and before her face fell with his entrance. "Hi Nate," She offered as a consolation prize.

"Blair," Nate gave her a quick look up and down. She looked as stunning as ever, slim white pants competing with a tartan jumper. "Is Chuck here?"

"He's at the dinner with his dad," Blair admitted as she stepped back.

That was it. That was the source of her enthusiasm. The monster made a sudden resurgence while Nate checked his watch. It was well after ten already. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"It's Tuesday," Blair raised both brows. It went right over his head until Blair expanded. "Tuesdays and Thursdays," She shook her head until Nate's blank expression was replaced by an informed on. Those were Chuck's meeting nights.

"When will he be back?"

"Just after eleven."

"Oh."

"Did you want to wait?"

Nate wasn't sure what he wanted until she smiled again. Then he knew he'd stay the rest of the night if she let him. He followed her into the house, watched her play hostess the same way she had a hundred times before, all natural grace and ease. She poured them both a glass of juice, handed his and then retook her place on the sofa. There was music playing in the background, school books opened to their relevant pages. It was just like Blair to be studying. Or was she? He was struck by a thought. He wondered if Blair had intended to study or solely chosen this room because it was closest to the foyer. Blair inched her foot along the coffee table to the furthest side. She had such delicate feet, with large arches and perfectly painted toes. Shades of pink or silver that always contrasted perfectly with the pale skin of his calves. He used to compare the two as she ran her toenails along his skin.

"Nate?" Blair asked and based on her expression it wasn't the first time.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. Why?"

"No reason," Blair decided and grabbed her play. She was studying Julius Caesar.

"That's a good play," Nate thought aloud. Well he guessed it was a good play. He'd never actually read it, just watched the Marlon Brando adaptation to pass.

"I guess," Blair said and tossed it aside. "I'm comparing it to Macbeth for Lit."

"Ah," Nate nodded his head. "What's your angle?"

"I'm comparing insanity to jealously," Blair said.

"That's an explosive mix," Nate decided.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck pushed the last remnants of Chow Mein away across the expansive oak table. His father was silent beside him, flipping through Waldorf financials. Bart was moving slower than normal, eyes squinting at the smaller text. Chuck didn't mention it. His father hated to be reminded about his reading glasses, refused to wear them except locked in his office and only when he was alone. Even his secretary had taken to printing presentations in size sixteen font. That's why when the glasses hit the paperwork Chuck had to hold back his chuckle. Lewis had tossed them as she walked by, continued from Bart's study to the kitchen. She had changed from her ruined clothes to a pair of jeans and tank. They'd all changed. Even Chuck had dug through the boxes that remained to find something in grey and blue. Bart pushed the glasses away, twisted the thin rectangular frames through his fingertips as he flipped. Then, to Chuck's shock, his father slipped them on. That was the moment Chuck decided Lewis Smith was a miracle worker. Not only could she resurrect the Bart Bass of old, but she could get the Bart Bass of new to wear his glasses.

"You're right about these columns being off," Bart explained after he'd circled the same two Chuck had suggested. "There's definitely some creative accounting happening."

"Blair saw it first," Chuck admitted.

"Hmm," Bart murmured as he kept reading. Chuck's phone rang to disturb their silence. He gave it a quick look and that's when he realized how late it was. He'd missed his meeting entirely. "Here's what's wrong," Bart pushed the paper across the table with the corrections highlighted in red. The location of the mistakes, the extent and method proved it was intentional.

That was more important and so Chuck clicked his sponsor through to voicemail.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair had started on her essay a few more times, tossed the books from left to right only to arrive at nothing. Nate could see her nervousness build with every minute past eleven. She kept checking her Cartier watch, eyes trading shifts between it and the small carriage clock on the mantle. Nate was checking as well, but not with as pure motivations. He also wondered how his friend was handling. "Did Chuck call you after dinner?"

"No," Blair admitted with a natural frown.

In some twisted way it made Nate happy to see her lips dip downward; to see her glower and to not be the source. "How do you think things went?"

"I think he shouldn't have gone."

"He needs to."

"No he doesn't. Bart always messes things up."

"That's his dad."

"He should be around positive people."

"His dad loves him." Nate assured. When Blair stopped talking, traded staring at her text for the wall he knew he'd hit her point of weakness. "Don't you want him to work things out with Bart?"

"I want him to be okay," Blair said in answer.

Nate was pretty sure that Chuck wasn't when the time inched to twelve. The blonde watched Blair's expression droop further as the numbers counted upward. That twisted joy returned. It might have been cruel but Nate needed Chuck to disappoint Blair. It's what his best friend excelled at. "Why don't you call him?" Nate suggested when midnight hit. He sat back into the couch, tried to guess which bar Chuck had fallen into after dinner.

Blair dialled. It took only one ring before Chuck picked up. She held her breath and Nate tried to overhear. He listened for the music or yelling in the background but everything was perfectly silent. "Chuck?" She started. "Where are you?" Nate had to turn his head away to avoid a smile. "You're at the townhouse still?" That was enough for his momentary hope to fall flat. Nate grabbed his jacket from the side, whispered his goodbyes into Blair's ear while she talked. He was in no mood to listen to those two.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"It was Blair," Chuck explained as he stepped back into dining room. His father nodded with a look at his own watch. Somewhere the night had got away from them both. "I should go."

Bart nodded his head; he didn't trust himself to say anything else. He'd bartered his way to one dinner, they hadn't fought, and it'd actually been kind of nice. Was that enough? "Charles…" He started but his son interrupted.

"Do you think I could come by for another dinner?"

"I'd like that."

Chuck was the one to nod after that. He gathered the assortment of papers off the dining table, returned them to his briefcase and moved to leave. "Father," Chuck could feel his heart race as he turned back. He actually had no idea why he was about to ask what he was. Maybe it was the evening meal, the fact that Bart had mentioned her first. Maybe it was because they were four days past the anniversary of her death and Chuck couldn't stop thinking about her, or maybe it's just because he'd always wanted to know. "Do you miss mom?"

Chuck didn't need the answer once he saw his father's face. Bart's eyes deepened, his face went downward as his breathing hitched. "Everyday," Bart gave the final confirmation.

Chuck didn't push further or even speak further. He took what was offered and left, trailing his briefcase in one hand. Bart looked up again as his son left, same the affirmation of what Lewis had been swearing all along. She slipped in through the other door, blonde bob pinned back and face scrubbed clean. "How did it go?" She asked.

"I think you were right," Bart admitted.

Lewis smiled enough to show her perfectly white teeth. "I know I'm right. I have ten years of research to prove it."

"I just…"

"Is it wrong for a boy to want to talk about his mother?" Lewis asked.

"No. I just can't. I can barely think about her."

"You're a smart man," Lewis gave him arm a final squeeze before heading back towards the stairwell. "You could figure out a way if you truly tried."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair stayed up for the next ding of the lift, until Chuck emerged, briefcase still banging about his legs. She saw the smile first, a fully beaming smile that divided the boy's face in two. She noticed the change of clothes second. The first calmed her heart but the other made it jolt again. "Chuck?"

"Blair," Chuck put a finger up, stopped outright to grab at his briefcase. He fished through until he found her financials. "You were right!"

"I was?"

"My dad wrote you a couple notes on page three," Chuck said with a couple flips. It was more than a couple notes; it was nearly five paragraphs of red.

"Thank you for doing this for me. I know it must have been difficult."

Chuck shrugged his shoulders as he passed her the papers. "It actually wasn't."

"No?" Blair felt her calm recede fully. "What was it?"

"I don't know," Chuck finished with a kiss on her cheek. She nearly jumped back as he came close. It was odd and totally unexpected. He didn't linger, just pressed his lips to her cheek as he passed on the way to the stairs. The papers lay forgotten in her hand as she felt it, the swirl of lemon and tobacco that was him. "It was kind of wonderful," Chuck corrected himself as he spun, moved up the steps backwards. He still had it; that beautiful and genuine smile. It could have melted her heart but her thoughts weren't as light. Blair couldn't help but wonder what kind of wonderful took four hours and involved a change of clothes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

There were a lot of words that Bart enjoyed: buy out, take over, expand, success. There were fewer words that Bart hated but somehow their impressions were deeper. One of those words was pressed upon him the next evening. It was _impossible_. Bart hated that word. It had started with simple thumbs down as Richard Prospect passed. He was the most reputable immigration lawyer that Bart could locate and therefore the best of all. The lawyer offered it as he emerged from the study. He'd met with Lewis for over three hours and all Bart got was one simple thumb down.

Lewis had been offered a position at Stanford but if the American government had their way she'd never take it. She faced deportation as early as September. Bart needed to know why. "What's stopping her from renewing her visa?"

"It's not a renewal. It's an entirely different visa. She's been on a student visa and now she needs a work visa."

"So what's the problem?"

"I can't discuss that with you," The lawyer said automatically.

"I'm the one paying," Bart reminded him. "Doesn't that make me the client?"

"She has asked me to be discreet." The lawyer explained. "Just trust that I'm doing my best but it's nearly impossible.

Bart watched the man go with crossed arms. It was that word. There ought to be nothing impossible for him. So he took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he hit Andrew Tyler.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Wow that was nearly all Bass stuff. Next chapter brings us back to the other multitude of storylines. (Someone needs to tell Bart that Lewis has done the whole rich men with PI's once before…remember how Andrew found her in TH by paying to find her social insurance number?)  
_

_Verybad4U – Yeah, I don't mind CS as siblings/friends. They've definitely let that drop on the show though. It's like C got adopted but he doesn't spend any time or scenes on his family relationship. I always cry over the total lack of CE. They had such an awesome dynamic to just ruin it like that._

_Midnightsky – I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm glad Eric kept his promise. Lily's going to have to get creative in who she recruits._

_Blair S - Eric's bf is Damien in this. He's an original character from YCFYF (Basically he's a British artist who originally dated Eric only because Georgina bribed him to by offering a private showing in NY but obviously Damien chose Eric over his show). And I totally agree that more than any other character in my stories Eric deserves the best._

_Oc-Journey – It won't be too much longer before we find out about what Chuck is on. Obviously there've been hints here and there. They're definitely glossing over but they won't be glossing forever._

_Sky Samuelle – hmmm, would Nate do something intentionally? We'll have to see. He's kind of a weak character to plot but if the opportunity was presented I don't see him saying no either. _

_BrittyKay – Yeah, Chuck truly does love Blair. Blair is going to go to prom though._

_Roswell Dream Girl – Chuck is starting to confide in her more but he's never been a really open character to start with. Baby steps, baby steps always ;) Bart and Lewis getting married? Hmm, how many people would like that?_

_Dysenchanted2 – You'll find out Blair's date within a few postings._

_annablake – Poor Nate…NOT. I'm having a hard time feeling sorry for him when they've made into an totally possessive jerk on the show. I mourn NV too. I like them together. They've broken them up twice now for no apparent reason. Vanessa is the only one that Nate ever actually looks genuinely happy with. (There's a real bowling scene coming up soon.)_

_ggloverx19 – Yeah, I can't believe I wrote fluff. What is the world coming to? I don't think you need to be worried about Chuck thinking that Blair secretly wants Nate. Blair told Chuck at the end of Try Honesty (the first in this series) that she hadn't thought about Nate that way for a long time._

_Ingridmarie – Hmm, should Chuck go to prom. For right now he's determined not to but that may change. We'll have to see. _

_CBEBIW trory – In Lily's defence she did try to talk to Eric a few times I just decided not to 'show' it. I do skip a lot of scenes here and there because it feels like it'd just be more of the same. Yeah, I do feel bad for Eric being all alone. Though he might just get creative._

_Up Next: Bart figures out a way, who thinks Serena is beautiful no matter what? Nate gives a great speech, too bad it's not to the right target…maybe he should reconsider the inspiration rather than the words._


	43. Chapter Seventeen Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Seventeen – Part Two**

"Honestly," Damien held up two shirts for his boyfriend's perusal. One was black wool with brown cashmere cutting across the chest; the other almost looked like chain mail, silver meshing that was wound thick around a tightly linked chain. "Which one would look better on television?"

"I think that your interview isn't for two weeks," Eric pointed out.

"A week and a half," Damien corrected. "So black or silver?"

"For you?" Eric arched one brow. "I'd say silver." Damien nodded his head in agreement, hung the silver on the back of their bedroom door and tossed the other onto a growing pile. He'd pulled five different pairs of pants before the doorbell interrupted. Eric tossed the remote to the table and answered first.

"So?" Serena rushed into her brother, hugged, kissed and spoke in one melding motion.

"So?" Eric smirked as he scrambled free.

"Where are they?" Serena nearly squealed.

"Oh, I see," Eric gave a feigned look of hurt. "That's why you're here."

"I could have come to convince you to attend mom's fortieth birthday," Serena stuck her tongue out at her younger brother.

"You tried that already."

"And you're the one who called me."

"True enough." Eric grabbed the envelope from the side, tossed them at his sister. She had her interview in less than a week and now she had the photos to proceed. She ripped into them, dropped them across the scratched coffee table and stared. On first sight they were stunning. Her brother had outdone himself, executed to perfection and bested even the professionals. He'd manipulated the angles, played with shades of light and dark, pulled three rolls in black and white. On first sight they were as beautiful as her. On second sight that was the problem. Serena kind of wished her brother and his equally artistic boyfriend hadn't picked through the last set. She'd have loved this one if she saw more than hair and eyes. When she looked up Serena knew the boys were thinking the same. "They're not good are they?" Serena put her fear to words.

"It's not that," Eric pointed out. "You are stunningly beautiful."

"And so are these photos," Serena realized. "But Damien was right. It's all hair and eyes."

Eric stared at his boyfriend; they both wished they hadn't opened that door. "It's just that you have so much," Eric pointed out.

"You have perfect bone structure," Damien agreed. "But you can't see it."

"I suppose."

"I know someone who could change that," Damien suggested.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The package was waiting for Chuck when he got home. He had planned to leave for Seattle that morning but his meeting had been delayed, pushed back to Friday. Dorota passed the envelope wordlessly as he entered and Chuck recognized his father's print on first sight. It was thick, heavy and blank except for the single post it note in the corner. The message was simple. _I hope this explains why._ Chuck's first instinct was to throw it into a drawer, but then he remembered the night before and pushed it beneath an arm instead. He tossed it to the table of the front parlour with his school bag, went to raid the kitchen as per his usual afternoon routine. Dorota always had something for him, usually a plate of sliced apples or a glass of chocolate milk. She was downright motherly. Chuck lingered through both, let the curiosity build until it overwhelmed common sense. Then he sat at the couch, kicked his school bag to the side and tried to guess what was wrapped in beige. Mostly he tried to predict his reaction to the unknown. He couldn't predict the future and so he gave the unmanageable up to futility as he ripped.

There was a book on the inside and Chuck pulled it out, throat catching the minute it was exposed. It was a large scrapbook, covered over in thick red felt and decorated lovingly by hand; elaborate lettering tangled between detailed drawings. His mother had always loved to doodle, though her doodles were more Monet than scribbles. The roses were almost lifelike and the ivy crawled through the cover but that wasn't what drew Chuck's eye. It was the central heart and the two names joined through it: Bartholomew Bass and Misty Xavier. The dates were recorded in the bottom right, 1975-1981 intermingling in calligraphic text. Chuck was struck speechless. He had never seen this book before and while he knew his mother had enjoyed assembling memory books (there was a collection hidden in the back of the hall closet, one for each of his first eleven years) Chuck didn't know the practice was fifteen years older than him.

Chuck trailed one finger through the years, tried to slow his breathing before he turned the cover aside to the first page. It was a simple one, just a collection of handwritten names, childlike blending of her first to his last, exactly the thing any thirteen year old with a crush would do. It was a wall of innocence that was reflected throughout the pages: pictures, quotes, and inscriptions binding to create a past that Chuck had always vaguely known. It was at times humorous, at others blissful and at some vaguely voyeuristic (like the five pages of why everyone ought to love Bart Bass). Above all, though, it was captivating and Chuck was captivated. He lost sense of time for history; didn't even notice Blair until she was beside him, chestnut hair tickling his arm.

"What is that?" Blair asked as she peered over his shoulder.

"It's my parents," Chuck turned his head to meet Blair's eyes. He was caught there for a minute; by her lips were only inches from his. Then his words registered and her eyes were down, Chuck trailing to meet them there.

"Oh my god. Is that them at prom?"

Indeed it was. Misty was half doubled over with laughter, pale princess dress crumpled with her shoulders, crown hanging half off the brown hair that had been set with curlers. She had rows of perfect white teeth that shone from every angle, and formed a centerpiece to every photograph. Bart was beside her in a suit as skinny as her frame, matching crown dangling just as precariously, smile as crooked as hers was straight. Misty was facing away but he had one arm to anchor her to his side. Her own hand was pulled at his collar, undone in the styles of old. Bart and Misty were always touching, hands or arms or legs intertwined through every page. Chuck remembered that from life. They were always beside the other, eyes matching hands matching feet. It was a kind of intense chemistry, a fire that burned from the inside out. "Yeah, that page was in their yearbook. My mom must have copied it."

"Most epic love story?"

Chuck smirked, he couldn't help himself. "They were voted that. You know the whole most likely to succeed and so forth."

"Wow," Blair raised both brows as Chuck flipped forward, passed through the graduation gowns and congratulations until he hit the last page.

"Is that what I think it is?" Blair stopped him on the final picture. It a perfect snapshot of Chuck's parents, arms intertwined and noses touching. She was wearing a black and white floral skirt with red tank to match his red sweater and jeans. It could have been any photo in that book; except for the bundle of white roses that Misty held in one hand and the cheesy Vegas floral arch that decorated the background.

"It's their wedding photograph."

It wasn't like any wedding they would see, the scuffed heels and day old stubble didn't fit into their world, but then again, that kind of passion should fit anywhere; the total captivation, naturally curving lips and sway that was caught forever on film. It was beautiful. You could feel the optimism bleed from the page, the hopefulness and sanguinity of a life that was just starting.

"You have to see this," Chuck started to turn back, weaved through the early years until he reached the front. It was a photo of his thirteen year old father, wrapped in rich red craft paper and decorated with hundreds of hand drawn hearts. Bart wasn't as formidable in those days, just a gangly and short early teen. In fact, he stood at least three inches smaller than Misty in every photo.

"He was tiny."

"Apparently he didn't grow until his late teens," Chuck explained.

"That's hilarious!"

"But my mom loved him anyway." Chuck said smugly and Blair grabbed the book. She laid it across her lap and settled into his shoulder, falling eventually against his chest. Blair led the second excursion, smiled almost as large as his as they manoeuvred through history.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The following night was a Thursday. Nate dangled a glass of champagne through his fingertips. The New York societal collective wove through the Van der Woodsen apartment. It was Lily's fortieth birthday and what had started out as an intimate gathering for close friends had morphed into another of those functions. Perhaps Lily had something to prove, or maybe she just needed enough friends to cover the absence of her son. She smiled in the centre of it all, covered whatever she was truly feeling with white teeth and Botox.

Serena wasn't even there yet, despite the fact she's wrangled his cooperation. Apparently relations with the Humphreys had gone from chilly to awkward. Rufus had lost his charming spark and Dan ran away from Serena at every possibility. Nate was supposed to be Serena's protector, or at least a six foot shield. Dan was here and he'd brought his own shield, she was standing at his arm, curly black hair and amazing violet eyes. Vanessa had handed Nate fifty dollars on the way in, didn't even break her stride as she forced it into his hand. Nate took another sip of his champagne and looked away. Blair wasn't here either, she'd begged off at the last minute. Neither was Chuck for more obvious reasons. In fact, the under nineteen crowd consisted of only Humphreys and their Brooklyn hanger on. Nate took another sip of his champagne and considered running away. What else was he supposed to do? Dan and Vanessa would carve him through with a butter knife if he tried to talk to them. Who was he supposed to talk up? Little J?

When had he become so awkward? He and Blair had owned every room they'd entered, she'd cut her heels across a hundred floors, traded banter and outtalked woman twice her age. They'd loved him nearly as much, though he knew it was more for his dimples than conversation. That was okay. Everything just fit together with Blair. Now he was like a puzzle with all four corner pieces missing.

"Oh my god Serena!" Lily's voice cut through his thoughts, forced his head upward again. "What have you done to your hair?"

Nate searched the crowd for his most recent girlfriend. He looked right past her at first, ignored the short haired girl in search of luscious blonde waves. His blue eyes grew to saucers as he looked back, tiny prickles of unease crawling through his stomach to see the object of his once lust so visibly changed. Serena had traded the curls that dangled to the middle of her back for a pixie cut that barely skimmed the tops of her ears. He had never seen Serena with short hair. She'd come to kindergarten the first day with hair as long as it was yesterday, rich blonde curls that always fell out of her tightly woven ponytail into the sand of the sandbox. It was a bit like a traffic accident, you wanted so badly to turn away but that sick, twisted part of you wanted to see just how bad the damage was. And it was bad. Serena's eyes were already starting to cloud with tears and she had no hair left to hide them behind. So she ran through the cocktail party, up the stairs in the general direction of her room.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I don't think I can do this," Bart admitted at a quarter to seven. Chuck was going to be there in less than fifteen minutes and his father had a sudden desire to be elsewhere. He tried to turn his tie over but his fingers wouldn't cooperate, he tried to organize his thoughts and plan something to say but he couldn't find the right ordering. So he just stared at the large mirror in his bedroom, watched himself and the blonde that sat at the end of his bed. She smiled at him in reassurance and he tried to turn his tie again. He wondered if Lewis knew how much he'd come to rely on her.

"You'll do fine."

"No, I really can't do this," Bart decided.

Lewis shook her head. She's sure there was a stereotype in this mess, the aggressive, authoritative businessman reduced to shaking mess at the thought of one thoughtful conversation. It's not a wonder he'd avoided it for so long. "Why?" She finally asked through the silence.

"I'm scared," Bart said is so quietly. He'd not sure he should admit it. He was supposed to be the type of man that never got scared. But this wasn't business; it was something far more precious to him. "What if I say the wrong thing?"

"What if you do?" Lewis threw right back. "We all say the wrong thing half the time."

"I have said _a lot_ of wrong things."

"I kind of guessed that."

"Oh God! I'm going to cry." Bart gave up the tie for his face, covered both his eyes as he sat beside her. "I am going to turn into some pathetic crybaby and screw everything up."

"What could screw things up?" Lewis asked calmly. At first he stared strangely, did she really want him to list each and every potentially negative outcome? "Come on, seriously, what could you say or do that could be that bad?"

"When Chuck was twelve he asked me how you show the object of your affection that you adore them."

"See," Lewis smiled. "He trusted you."

"I told him to find out what _he_ likes and do that for them."

"_He_?" Lewis pressed a hand to her mouth to choke back the laughter. "You actually thought Chuck was gay?"

"Have you seen how he dresses?" Bart said, smile finally breathing through his nerves. It dropped quickly enough, shaking head countering Lewis' laughing one. "I always say the wrong things."

"You do have quite the temper."

"I know."

"Then again, so does your son."

"Like father…like…" Bart trailed off as he covered his eyes.

"You will do just fine," Lewis insisted as she pulled his hands downward, pressed them into the comforter. "Just try honesty. If you're truthful then he'll see that."

Bart shook his head. "How can you be so sure that things will work out?"

Lewis palmed his chin as she chose her words. "I remember the man who spent two hours talking to me on the phone last spring because he was _that _worried about his son." She pressed each of her small hands to his face, smiled at him as he faced her. "Show him that man and then it doesn't matter what you say, whether you cry or not. He'll understand."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena buried her face into her Egyptian pillow, snuffled and wept until the door opened. She pressed her eyes against the cotton, realizing in irony that no one could see blonde or blue. Her hair was wisps and her eyes were red through. Why had she let Eric and Damien convince her? She was entirely too malleable. "Serena?" The familiar voice intruded on her thoughts and she was tempted to yell at him to go away. She would have if she hadn't been wishing he'd crawl into this room from the moment she moved in.

"Dan?" She mumbled instead.

"Are you alright?"

"Wonderful."

"Did you want to look at me while you're saying that?"

Serena turned her head just enough to catch him in her peripheral vision. He looked as handsome as he always did, skinny leather tie playing off a cashmere pullover and white oxford shirt.

"You could keep turning the entire way," He suggested in that playful way she'd always adored.

Serena did as he asked; let one ear rub against the pillow before dropping onto it. Her eyes felt heavy and she wasn't sure whether it was the force of her tears or simply the effect of lying so vulnerable. "I knew my mother was going to hate it," Serena said. She put the hand to her neck again, tried to feel for the curls that were no longer there.

"Do you hate it?"

"I don't know," Serena admitted. "I started crying while they were cutting."

"But do you hate it?"

"Do you?" Serena turned the question around. She stared up at him. He'd be truthful. She could count on him for that.

"Honestly?" Dan asked, waited until Serena shook her head. "No."

"Yeah right."

"I think you look amazing."

"Really?" Serena brushed at her eyes, disbelief playing across her far from serene face. "This from the boy who wrote a dozen poems about my long blonde hair?"

Dan's eyes flickered as he remembered, small smile played as he sat beside her on the bed. "Those poems were never really about your hair."

"They weren't?"

"It was a metaphor."

"Metaphor?"

"Symbol for something else," Dan explained.

"Like?"

"Serena. It doesn't matter the length of your hair, whether your eyes are blue or green, or sometimes somewhere in between. It wouldn't matter whether you're seventeen or seventy you will always be amazing. It isn't in the externals. It's in you. You're infectious, your zest for life and everything in it. You shouldn't worry about the rest because you're vivacious from the inside out."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck found his father on the balcony of the Bass townhouse. Bart was sitting on one lounge chair, studying the small herb garden growing in one corner. It wasn't the only plant that had been added. There was a miniature tree, more creeping ivory and a geranium bush. It had altered the cold, empty space that Chuck remembered. It felt more like a home. Chuck eyed the ledge for just a moment before he took the chair beside his father.

"Charles," His father greeted first. Bart liked being outside. Perhaps it was the effect of being indoors for so many hours, or maybe it was just the cool evening breeze that chased away the heat he felt behind his eyes.

Chuck unclipped the flap of his school bag, pulled out the scrapbook Bart had left for him the day before and offered it back. Bart took it without a word, laid it on the glass table without a look. It was easier that way. "Are there more?" Chuck asked.

Bart shook his head.

"Could I see them?"

Bart shook his head again, kicked his feet from the wicker furniture and disappeared into the house.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate was on his fourth glass of champagne when he found the balcony. He was already starting to feel the comfortable buzz so he put the glass aside and moved to the far side, stared down at the traffic lights and the lines of glowing cars that moved slowly between them. Apparently Serena hadn't needed him after all. Based on how quickly Dan had followed her up the stairs, one division was likely to be mended by nightfall. It just wasn't his. So he stared until he heard the heels. He chanced a look when they were halfway across the cement block, eyes held steady for a moment when he saw who it was. Vanessa stared back at him, lips pressed together at first. They relaxed as gradually as she moved. She shuffled the last few steps, stood beside him on the balcony. That was the problem with favours, she decided; they sometimes calmed the waters of discontent.

"What has you brooding out here all alone?" Vanessa offered after her initial reservations passed.

"It's nothing."

Vanessa gave him a quick appraisal, tie half undone and lips curled down. "I can tell." She didn't try to cover her sarcasm.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Why don't you just tell me," Vanessa suggested. "I used to be a good listener."

"You wouldn't want to know."

"Try me." Nate shook his head no, kept his brooding eyes fixed at the apartment opposite. "Or you could just stand and bore a hole into the brick across the street," Vanessa taunted.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

There was an entire box worth of albums, recounting the ten years of marriage Bart and Misty had shared before they'd had Charles. They started in university, documented not only anniversaries or birthdays but every little moment in between. They told the story of Bart's meteoric rise to the top of the business world. They proved what Chuck had first glimpsed in that initial album, that Misty truly was the rock that his father built everything upon. The journey was a rose-coloured one. It meandered well away from anything unpleasant and kept the viewer in an artificially perfect state of joy. That was okay. Chuck could always use the happiness.

Bart sat back and let his son explore. Chuck asked questions here and there, prompted for recollections of events or explanations of people but he didn't force his father's participation. Chuck scrutinized all ten years. He read until the sun dipped behind the men, replaced by the balcony's central lamp. His father sat back at first, mostly relieved that so little contribution was required. He kept his answers only long enough to satisfy his son, mostly kept his eyes averted but it couldn't help the shaking in his hands. Every time he glanced over, every perfect smile and looping text, it brought him right back. That's when Bart realized, staring into space like a fool wasn't going to stop it so he chose to lean over. Chuck was already on the last album, flipping past another photo of smiles and hands. Bart stopped him, turned it back to one of his favourites.

She was so stunning, thick, dark hair tied in a ponytail that trailed halfway down her back. She was wearing another floral print dress. She loved them bold, flirty and floating. Misty always looked flawless, from her naturally pale face to her bold brown eyes. She looked just like her son. But this photo, it was his personal favourite. She was standing at the edge of an ocean, brown hair flying half encased and half free with the breeze. Bart could almost feel the salt water tickle his fingers as it had when he'd snapped it. Her beaming smile was just sneaking through the tears. His wife's face had transformed in an instant. They'd stopped at the beachfront after a visit to her sister Kaitlyn and her newborn daughter Kathy. Misty had been so upset in the car, though she wouldn't admit to the cause. It didn't do them any good to talk about it. Bart had been so adamant in his refusals, and Misty suggested but never fully pushed the issue. Bart could remember how hurt he was to see her tears mix with the sea air. He never liked to see her unhappy, in fact he downright hated it. So he'd cracked and offered what she'd wanted most.

"What is it?" Chuck asked.

Bart pressed his fingers to his lips, smiled as much as she had when he had said it. "That was the moment I agreed to have a child."

"Really?" Chuck smiled at the page, the instant he had become a glimmer in his parent's eyes.

"She started screaming after I took the picture," Bart recalled. "So loud that it echoed off the surrounding hillside. I kind of thought someone would call the police but I'm glad they didn't," Bart added with a secretive smile.

Chuck could guess the mystery behind it. "Did you conceive me on the seashore?" He asked with a mix of moderate disgust and genuine amusement.

A thin line of blush spread over the formidable man's features.

"Oh my god," Chuck stared at the page and then looked away. "I was wasn't I?"

"There's no way to know for sure," Bart said more factually.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate stared at the brunette, violet eyes as open as they'd always been. She'd been his confidant for nearly a year and he missed that. "Have you ever wanted a second chance at something so bad that you can actually taste your own need?" Nate threw out quickly, words tumbling before he could think the better of it. He'd later blame glass number four. "And the thing is that you know you don't deserve one because you threw the first away. What you did was so unforgivable that if the roles were reversed, if you were the one forgiving, you wouldn't be able to. But you still want everything back the way it was because once upon a time it was so damn good."

The shock stole Vanessa's breath away. She'd been waiting for an apology; she'd told herself she would be content with one emphatic sorry. Or at least she wouldn't hate him anymore. She didn't want to hate him anymore. It had been nearly five months and it still burned every time she saw him. She couldn't leave the wrath behind. Vanessa had been struggling towards indifference but maybe that was the problem, she couldn't be indifferent to him. And maybe he couldn't be indifferent to her either. The thought made her smile, a minute inching of her lips that she hid behind a hand.

"What would you do?" Nate asked her honestly.

"I'd try," Vanessa admitted, smile spreading outside her hand, extending to her eyes. "Because even if you don't deserve a second change you might still get one."

Nate considered her words while Vanessa tried to regain her breathing. He continued to study the building opposite, but it wasn't with a fierce glower but a thoughtful stare. It helped her to find her calm. When he turned she didn't try to hide anything.

"Thank you Vanessa," Nate said, touching her arm briefly as he walked beyond.

Vanessa's smile dipped as he stepped by, face dropped into absolute confusion when he disappeared into the house. She took a deep breath and stared at the apartment opposite, glared into the brick as she wondered what the hell had just happened.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck let the smoke swirl around as his father fed the stories to him, led him through Misty's pregnancy, relived the optimism and the giddy joy of an expectant parent. If he ever doubted his father's love then the recollection of just how much Chuck was wanted would have been enough to restore it. No matter what had gone between or how much Bart had fought against the idea of children at first, his father had loved him from conception.

"Why did you wait so long?" Chuck asked. There were obvious reasons; his parents had got married at eighteen with only a high school education behind them. Bart had a dynasty to build but he'd done so quickly. He'd finished his undergraduate in only three years, worked with his best friend Jack McFayden to take over the world. By twenty-four he'd amassed enough of a fortune to support twenty families. Still they'd waited the full ten years.

Bart looked away rather than answered and Chuck remembered the rest of his parent's story, the stuff that didn't fit in orchestrated photo albums, the things you never recorded, you bits and pieces you tried to forget. "Was it…?"

"Yes," Bart admitted before his son finished the thought.

"Was it really bad?" Chuck asked. He needed to know.

Bart didn't know how to answer that. There were parts that were horrific but it was just a portion of the whole. He looked down at the chaise, then back to his son. Chuck had grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the table in the interim. He held it out to his father. It might not have been the Cuban cigars Bart favoured, and he might have truly preferred his own glass of scotch but Bart took it anyway. He let his son light it and sat back.

"I don't remember that," Chuck admitted. "I mean some of it but not like people say it should be."

"It was worse when we were in University," Bart admitted.

"Was she getting better?"

"No," Bart shut his eyes. "We just learned to manage it better. I recognized the signs and she leaned to trust me to help her through it."

"Why didn't you get help earlier?"

"Misty didn't want to," Bart admitted. "We didn't really understand. She was such a passionate personality type; I just figured it was an exaggerated form of that."

Chuck dragged harder on his cigarette. That was the problem wasn't it? Where did one end and the other begin? "Did you hate her for it?"

"What? No!" Bart stared at his son. "I could never hate her."

"It couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't."

"How did it start?" Chuck asked as he studied his own shoes. "I mean I know you said she started to do strange things at eighteen but what kind of things?"

"I don't know," Bart said even though he did. There were a lot of memories, moments that were just a bit off. He remembered them all.

"Something?"

Bart stared first at his cigarette, watched the red glow into the night sky and decided he'd start at the beginning. "Kathy was already dating Jack. His family had this big cabin up at Montgomery Lake. There was wilderness for miles around and this enormous pond to one side. The ground was covered in snow but it was slowly melting into spring. The pond had been frozen solid when we visited a few weeks before but it had started to thaw. Jack expressly told us to stay off it, that it wasn't strong enough to hold us, but the last time we were there Misty and I had kissed in the middle with the snow falling all around. She insisted on walking back out there and it didn't matter what I said she wasn't scared in the slightest. She told me that she couldn't get hurt and she truly believed it." Bart could feel his eyes cloud over but he blinked the tears away. "She fell into the middle of the lake, right in front of me. By the time I pulled her out her fingers and lips were already blue."

Chuck took an inhalation, that crawling feeling returning to the base of his stomach. It was just one event, something that a perfectly sane person might have considered doing as well. But it was the start of a pattern of behaviour that Chuck recognized. "Did you ever want to leave her?"

"Never."

"Not once?"

Bart shook his head firmly; lips pressed together, a desperate attempt to manage the pressure that was building. "I was lost from the first moment I saw her." He could still remember it, the new student with the infectious smile. Her parents had moved to Brooklyn at the start of grade eight, thrown her into a new world that she'd met with a smile. Bart saw her once and everything else was history.

"That was it?" Chuck asked.

"I could never have left her after I knew her," Bart insisted. It wasn't the entire truth. There was a time where he wished for something else, but that was after she'd left him with a dull ache he couldn't mend. "There was a time I wished I'd never met her," Bart admitted. "After she died, there were days that I wished her parents had kept their apartment in Seattle, that she'd never smiled that first coy smile. There were moments when I wished I hadn't fallen for her spell. But that was just because I didn't know how to live without her." Bart said, tears breaking through his artificial barriers.

Chuck was stunned into absolute silence. The cigarette dangled unmanaged as he watched at his father cry. His eyes turned fully round, heart slowed to a stop.

"I think I tried to erase her. But you can't erase twenty-six years of your life. You can't just wipe away that kind of love." Bart's voice hitched as his chest cracked open, torrent of tears replacing the few initial droplets. "You're never supposed to lose that kind of love. She was never supposed to leave me."

Chuck could feel his own eyes moisten in response, was vaguely aware of his cigarette dropping to the cement. Chuck was astounded, shocked, fully stunned even. Perhaps most of all he was moved. He took his fathers from shaking fingers and then he did the one thing he hadn't done since he was a child. He hugged his father first.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – did I make you cry? I actually teared up a bit while writing this so I hope you liked it._

_Annablake - I love your reviews :) Will Nate ever tell Blair about his feelings, Of course he will in due time and it's coming up. Yeah, I love jealous Blair too. She's going to get another chance to show that side of her. I kind of love her reaction the first time she's invited to the Basses for dinner though._

_ggbush - Unfortunately I ship Serena-Dan well and far over Nate-Serena. I don't mind NS but I just find them kind of boring together, they need other personality types to balance them out._

_Sky Samuelle - I'm never opposed to double reviews. And I'm glad you're horrified by Nate because his thoughts are downright horrifying. He did want Chuck to go out drinking just to let Blair down. It's not just about Blair though, Nate has issues with new Chuck generally._

_Doxeh - I agree that NB do need closure, or at least N needs closure for his feelings for B. I think B is past the need for it. When will that happen? Will that happen? We'll have to see. Though to be honest, Nate just needs to grow up in general._

_Ingridmarie - Yep, in this tale Nate is one sucky friend :)_

_BrittyKay - Who said Nate was giving up (evil smile). Will Chuck move out? I think he'll have to at one point._

_Blair S. - Hmm maybe Bart could offer to marry Lewis so she could stay in the States. That'd be cute wouldn't it (not going to happen though)._

_CBEBIW trory - Nate and Vanessa? Hmm, I do so love that ship...._

_Oc Journey - Ramfications for missing his meeting. Did anyone notice that this was a Thursday and Chuck stayed with his father well into the night? He's missed a week's worth of AA now. Blair is definately against Chuck moving home. How will that play out? We'll have to see. Btw, you hit the nail on the head when you said that Chuck is most worried about becoming like his mom.  
_

_Verybad4U - You'd pay me? Hmm, how much (just kidding). And just for the record, Nate pisses me off too.  
_

_Up Next – Don't you know, everyone loves rekindled romances…almost as much as secret pasts ;)_


	44. Chapter Eighteen Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Eighteen – Part One**

_April 24, 2009_

_The problem with love is that it's based in contradictions. It mixes self-sacrifice with desire and possession. It makes your motives contradictory, twists and turns inside until your not sure if this is a path you've already stumbled down or if it's something new. The problem with love is that it isn't clear. There are no guarantees when you give your heart away because you rarely chose to give it away. It's stolen by that thief in the night. It we were in control of love then we would never chose to love who we do, or chose to love in the ways that we do. We'd pick the sensible choice every time, bed down with the dull and predictable because, deep down, we all want to know the future. There is comfort in the known._

_But love isn't comfortable, straightforward or even easy. Love is passionate, it sweeps in like tidal wave that leaves you disorientated and dampened through._

_Blair Waldorf_

Chuck had crawled out to the tiny balcony that bordered his bedroom window. It was long, stretching beyond the length of that room but narrow, barely enough to fit two. He was sitting with his legs pushed out full when Blair found him, guarded by a haze of tobacco smoke and lit by the faint glow of red. His hair fell forward to cover his thoughts along with his eyes. He didn't turn when she stepped beside him. That made her nervous. She touched him on the arm and he flinched away. That made her more nervous. She considered sitting beside him anyway but chose not to, not while his entire body was turned away. Neither would she retreat into the house. So she walked the full length of the ledge, sat with only her feet touching his. He was the one to press on them, to meet her sole with his, to touch her even though his eyes were miles away.

"Are you alright?" She asked. He didn't answer. She supposed it was better than denial. "Was it your dad?" Chuck shook his head no. "Did he say something to you?"

"It's not like that."

"Really?"

"Yes really," Chuck admitted with another drag and another ring of smoke. It fully dissipated into the night air by the time he spoke again. "I think I was wrong about him."

"Wrong?" Blair arched her brow in disbelief. "How exactly?"

"He might just be kind of amazing."

Blair bit her lip. She didn't trust herself to speak. It would likely end in a contradiction.

"Like you," Chuck said as he finally met her gaze. His eyes were so heavy that they pulled her down. "You two are a lot alike." Chuck decided. They were. They had the same stubbornness, drive to excel, same standards of perfection and, he now had to admit, the same ability to stand beside someone despite everything. Chuck wasn't disturbed by the similarity. He was just bothered by the role that left for him to play.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blair suggested. "I could help you out."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Chuck…"

"You want to help me?" Chuck threw his cigarette over the balcony. He pulled on the railing and stood up. He needed to move because being out here he might just tell her everything. "Then help me pack. I'm due on a flight in less than seven hours."

Chuck walked back into the room before Blair, eyed the suitcase that was lying on his bed. It was nearly empty, only a black journal and some pyjamas to show that he'd started at all. Blair helped him fill it, debated with him the best wardrobe to impress. Eventually they filled it past capacity, had to debate what needed to be removed. It wasn't surprising. It was Chuck and Blair after all.

"You forgot your razor," Blair said as her eyes scanned the finished product. Chuck murmured once in reply, was digging through the side table for his copy of the blueprints. He wanted to have another look at them on the airplane. Blair was already in the bathroom when her words registered along with her destination. Chuck snapped his head quickly around, threw himself to his feet and ran across the room. He propelled himself through the doorway as Blair touched the handle of the first drawer to the left. Blair looked up in surprise as he entered. "Chuck?"

"I need to buy a new razor," Chuck said with a gasp.

"Oh," Blair let her fingertips drop back down, her eyebrows furrowed at the display. "Okay."

Chuck pulled a breath in, but didn't exhale until she stepped back.

"Is there something else I can help you with?" Blair suggested.

"I could use a snack," Chuck said. "_Downstairs_…I didn't eat much with my dad."

"I'm sure we can find something," Blair let one eyebrow rise, a kind of amusement at his urgent need for nourishment. "I think Dorota baked an apple pie today."

"Sounds delicious."

"With ice cream?" Blair suggested as she brushed past.

They ended up splitting only a single slice, piling it high with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. They used two spoons, engaged in clashing battles for the slices of apple, all hand cut by Dorota and grilled in cinnamon before being added to the shell. Chuck detailed the building site he'd be visiting the next afternoon, and Blair explained her plans for commencement. When those topics ran to nothing they found others to talk about, all as light and fluffy as Dorota's pie crust. Chuck watched her laugh and convinced himself that he could be happy with being her friend forever. It took only five minutes for that theory to be undone, when she wiped the whipped cream from his cheek, her touch igniting butterflies the same way it always did.

It was futile. He was a damned man so he did the only thing he could. He begged off and fell into his bed alone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was walking to meet the rest of her preferred family at the picnic table when it happened. Dan met her halfway, put a hand on her arm, and stopped her dead in the middle of the courtyard. He wasn't intending on the audience, but he'd been planning this moment for days and didn't want another chance to pass him by.

"Dan?" Serena asked when she turned and he lost his carefully prepared speech. He lost speech entirely, Serena's gaze turning amused at he stared at her eyes. What was wrong with blue anyway?

"Serena," Dan said after a deep breath. He was usually better at these sorts of things. Okay, maybe not these sorts of things. But he was a pretty good public speaker. Well, sometimes he talked too fast and kind of jumbled his words but that's because he thought so fast. Or, as in this case, jumped entirely off topic.

"Can I help you with something?" Serena's amusement spread to her lips. Maybe Eric and Damien had a point; they looked so much thicker without a curtain of curls. They were positively kissable.

"I have something to ask you," Dan admitted with a deliberate look away.

"Yes," Her lips spread to display the perfect teeth below. She'd worn braces for two years to manage such perfection.

"This may sound kind of crazy," Dan pre-empted. "And I totally understand if you don't want to but," Dan took two tickets from his pocket. Serena recognized them immediately. Blair had forced her onto two separate graduation committees; one had designed those very graphics. "Will you go to prom with me?"

"Me? Why?"

Dan took a breath and then smiled. "Because there isn't anyone else I'd rather spend that night with." Serena was struck speechless. "I mean it doesn't have to mean…" Dan began but everything before it undid the obligatory friend's speech. Serena was pretty sure she knew what he was thinking. She was also sure that she felt the same. So she kissed him full on the lips, in plain view of the entire courtyard and every single one of her friends. She threw her arms around his neck and wound her slender body to his. It didn't take long for the boy to reciprocate, to open his mouth and start a show not suitable for the youngest grades.

"Wow," Blair mumbled with a casual sip of her pomegranate juice. The rest just kind of shrugged their shoulders. They'd all seen that one six miles or at least six months coming.

"Is that the new issue of Vogue?" Eric asked after a respectful fifteen second pause.

"Yeah," Blair admitted and tossed it over.

Their table was filled with the Non-Judging Breakfast Club and a few hanger-on's. Chuck was in Seattle, his place occupied by Kat and Is. Blair's former minions had floundered around for a bit, tried to find an arrangement as comforting as the steps had been. They gave that up after a week, decided to join Blair at her new setting. Blair hadn't sent them away. In fact, she discovered that once the obligation to rule wasn't clouding every interaction, Blair actually liked both of them.

"All hail the King and Queen," Kat teased her best friend.

"Who?" Blair asked.

"Dan and Serena," Is pointed back at the two. They were still rediscovering one another with an audience of three hundred to witness. Dan's hands had slipped, well, apparently he'd picked up a thing or two since the year before. Serena giggled embarrassingly as he cupped her behind. Then again, maybe not!

"We've been debating who'd be King and Queen all morning." Kat continued.

"Of Bangladesh?" Eric threw out snarkily.

"Prom," Is rolled her eyes.

"Oh!" That had Blair turning back.

"There are so few power couples this year," Kat pointed out.

"Well, still together anyway," Is said.

"You think it will be Dan and Serena?" Blair tried to ask it nonchalantly but it didn't play quite as such. She'd had her own prom dreams, planned out from the first day of freshman year.

"Definitely," Kat said. "Everyone loves a rekindled love story."

Blair studied her best friend and her Brooklyn love in greater detail than she ever had before. They did cut a stunning pair. Even without the fierce mane of a goddess Serena still drew every eye in the courtyard and Dan; well he had just enough intelligent neurosis to perfectly counter her bubbly transparency. They were perfectly matched.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck threw piles of clothes to the left and right, late morning sun creeping through his uncle's guest bedroom. It was illuminating his mistake, bare canvas of his suitcase proving he'd screwed up royally. He tossed the entire suitcase to the floor in frustration. It was a simple slip of the mind, not hard to make considering he'd spent half the night gossiping with Blair. Chuck checked his watch and counted the days, the hours he'd be gone. It was Friday morning; he was due in Seattle until Tuesday of the following week: five days, one hundred and twenty hours. What damage could be done with such a small window of opportunity? He would be fine. It was an easy argument to make. Chuck understood how his mother could make it again and again. He cursed into the yellow hued room, sat down on the unused comforter and debated his options. He couldn't pretend it meant nothing like his mother always had. Chuck could see the changes they had made, the promise of lighter moods and reduced anxiety coming true at least for him. He sat for a while and debated, finally shaking his head in resignation. If this was going to be his lot in life than Chuck would make sure not to mess with it like Misty had. He slapped the phone open, dialled the Waldorf home before his nerves got the better of him. His mind was made up before the answer. If it was Blair he'd tell her everything. It'd be destiny. She should have been at school three hours ago. If it was anyone else they'd probably tell her too.

"Hello," The voice came with an Italian accent and Chuck breathed in relief. Roman had always kind of liked him.

"It's Chuck."

"Good morning Chuck. Blair has left already for school."

"Yes, I know." Chuck squeezed his eyes shut. "I need your help with something."

"Yes?"

"You need to promise not to tell Blair."

"You want to surprise her?"

"No," Chuck rubbed at his eyes and reopened them. "It's got nothing to do with Blair. I've left my medication at your house. I need it couriered to me."

"I see."

"It's in the top left drawer of my bathroom."

"I'll give it to Harold when he gets back."

"I need it sent immediately," Chuck explained. "Overnight, I'll give you the address. Pay whatever they want; I'll reimburse you when I get back."

Roman agreed and Chuck relayed the information, waited until Roman found the bottle, wrapt it and addressed it. He didn't hang up until he'd gotten another promise, an oath of secrecy that made him breath easier.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

At lunch, Nate shifted as far away as possible to give Dan room. In fact, he moved to the other side, dangled off the edge there. Dan had eventually been moved from the Dartmouth waiting list but the resentment between them lingered. It was likely not just about schools; it probably still anchored in Nate's treatment of Vanessa. Despite his assurance that it wasn't a bribe, Nate _had_ been hoping that the money he offered Vanessa would smooth things over. The rest of their crowd had no such history, they welcomed Dan eagerly. He and Blair had retained a sort of superficial friendship throughout the year, Kat and Is were just friendly by nature, and Eric much preferred this Humphrey to the other. Serena showed their tickets and it started another prom discussion. Nate didn't join in, he was too busy thinking. His eyes were latched firmly to Blair's face and the disappointment that shone so fully through the brown.

Blair hadn't discussed prom since the night that Chuck refused to go but Nate knew she hadn't stopped thinking about it. She loved those sorts of things, every societal moment and this was a pinnacle. His former girlfriend headed every single committee, had spent the last eight months designing every moment of both prom and commencement. Nate knew that she'd done so with the fantasy of being in the middle of it, the center of attention with a crown to cement her Queen title. It must truly hurt to watch it all crumble to nothing. It didn't have to. Nate realized that he had finally found his way back into her life. He had cleared his throat to put it to words when Blair's phone rang. He swallowed the question when her eyes lit up. Nate remembered what he needed to do first.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck didn't feel the panic until they hit the metal gating, moved through the exterior fencing that surrounded the site. Until then he'd traded stories with his uncle, had felt almost giddy excitement at this new stage. He trusted Jack implicitly, not just because his uncle had their best interests in mind but because Jack was so good at what he did. He had the same confidence as his father, almost arrogance that was built on hundreds of these moments, the assumption that everything was going to turn out well that could only come from a history of success. It wasn't surprising. Jack had been at his father's side through the development of Bass Industries. They'd met in university, become best friends and then family when they'd married sisters. It was Jack's inheritance that had built the first stages of Bass and even though Bart had very quickly eclipsed the other boy, his father had kept his uncle through the journey. It was natural. They both had the smarts but only Bart possessed the drive and it took the right motivation to built an empire. His uncle had taken the second chair without complaint. Chuck stared at the rows of metal and cement and wondered if he had the sort of drive of his father or if he was more like Jack, born too comfortable to try hard.

"Amazing isn't it?" Jack said with a smile. "And these are just the first towers. There are three more being excavated closer to the waterfront."

There were three more? Chuck could feel his eyes grow as he looked for them. When he caught sight of the expansive holes of dirt and gravel his eyes rounded full. They were huge; the building site stretched ten times further than any of their takeover projects.

"You want to go see?" Jack asked as they stopped.

"Yeah," Chuck said through the hitch in breathing. His uncle opened the door and stepped out. He waited a minute before peaking his head back in.

"Are you coming?"

"I might need a minute first," Chuck admitted and his shut the door. Chuck let out a string of panicked expletives. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be frightened. He was the son of Bart Bass after all. He was supposed to walk in with a confident swagger, glare once or twice and watch everyone fall at his feet. He wasn't supposed to be on the precipice of losing his breath entirely. This was crazy. This wasn't him at all. He kept up the self talk but it didn't make him comfortable. The minutes were ticking by. He was expected to meet the investors in less than ten and he couldn't even breathe right. So he grabbed his phone and held the first number, waited for Blair's voice to fill the line.

"Chuck," The feminine drawl was so light that it carried away some of his tension. "Aren't you supposed to be on site by now?"

"I am."

"And?"

"It's big Blair."

"I know that. You showed me the blueprints."

"No, it's like fucking massive, like, bigger than anything I've ever seen before." Okay, maybe _that_ was an exaggeration but it felt that way.

"Are you," Blair started with a disbelief that he could hear through the distance, "scared?"

"You would be too." Chuck snapped.

Blair paused before she continued, tried to formulate her next sentence correctly. "You used to go out to business sites all the time with your dad."

"I know! I just don't remember them being this huge."

"Really?"

"I was little; everything is supposed to be big when you're little."

Chuck could hear Blair laugh and guessed it must be kind of funny. "Chuck, you've already done so well with your uncle. You've yet to lose money on a single project. I'm sure even your father couldn't say that."

Chuck nodded his head at the truth. He was pretty sure Bart had lost at least a few during his whole learning curve. Then again, his father hadn't been banking his own inheritance on the projects.

"You'll do wonderful," Blair reassured him. "You're a natural."

"I am aren't I?" Chuck replied with renewed confidence, natural smirk returning to his face. His uncle knocked on the glass of the door, signal that he was past expected outside. Chuck explained that to Blair, gave his thanks and shut the phone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was nursing a glass of scotch when Andrew Tyler walked in. He was due on a flight to Hong Kong in less than two hours but his PI swore the little side trip would be worth it. He tipped the liquid from side to side, and then pushed it away when the younger man sat down. "What did you find out?" Bart clipped in his usually formal tone. Andrew didn't smile like normal. He usually grinned like the Cheshire cat when he'd uncovered something he knew Bart would like. This smile was more one of bemusement. Bart didn't know what to make of it.

"You _friend_," The private investigator started. "Has _no_ chance of staying in the United States. I'm amazed they let her in in the first place."

"You've _got_ to be wrong."

"She only got a student visa because the former Governor of California wrote in her defence…Stanford alumni."

"Can't she get him to write again?"

"No chance," Andrew promised. "She got her original visa two months before 9-11. The immigration rules are more stringent now."

"But she worked at my son's school last fall."

"Ah yes, that's the other issue. The Office of Homeland Security was a lot more sympathetic to her cause before her more _recent_ legal troubles."

"Why is she having trouble at all? She's like the poster child for the kind of people America wants in: hardworking and intelligent."

"With a criminal record," Andrew raised a brow and dropped the dossier on the table.

Bart snorted. Wouldn't you? What were the chances of that? "You're telling me that _Lewis Smith_ broke the law?"

"Yes I am."

"Okay," Bart reconsidered. She was a bit exuberant he supposed. She might have done something stupid. She was a really bad driver. Could you get charged for too many traffic tickets? "So we get her a pardon."

"The Canadian government doesn't pardon felony offences."

"What?" Bart entire face went blank. He couldn't reconsider that. "You've got the wrong person."

Andrew picked the folder from the table, opened it to the first page. "Lewis Josephine Smith, born May 15th 1976 at Centre Hospitalier de Gatineau, Quebec."

"See," Bart put his hand up confidently. "That would make her thirty-three. There is no way that woman is thirty-three." He breathed a sigh a relief. "You have the wrong person."

"Born to Dr. Martin and Madeline Smith, both deceased as of Christmas Day, 1978." Andrew Tyler continued unfettered. "Miss Smith was placed in the custodial care of her grandmother until May 1979. She then moved to Hull under the care of Andrew and Helen Marcelle. She was placed again with her grandmother the following fall with care provisions. That lasted four months before they relocated her to Northern Quebec, and then six months later she was back with her grandmother. She followed that up in 1981 with short stays in Laval, Tros-Rivieres, and Quebec City before spending a couple more years in three different guardianship arrangements in Montreal. Then she headed back up…"

"I get the point," Bart snapped.

"There are seventeen names _before _she hits the first group home."

"Just give me the paper," Bart ripped it out of the Private Investigator's hands.

"She was sentenced to two years in the Tanguay Detention Center for women, but she spent only three months there." Andrew tried to point out the relevant section but Bart pulled it away.

"I don't get this. _This woman_, she would _never_ have broken the law."

"She might not have," Andrew suggested. "She was charged as an accessory to armed robbery. Apparently she drove her loser boyfriend of the time, along with some of his friends to the local convenience store. They're the ones who robbed it but she's the one who drove them away. She's maintained her innocence all along."

"This woman is a scholar." Bart mumbled in disbelief.

"Yeah, I saw that: graduated at the top of her class at university."

"How could she do that and spend her off hours robbing the local 7-11?"

"She was only fourteen when she was charged."

Bart flipped back to the front. "Why the hell did they charge a fourteen year old as an adult?"

"Prosecutor chose to charge all the kids together, the rest were close to eighteen."

Bart gave the papers a quick look through. "But she turned herself in!"

"You think some underpaid public defender really cared about an orphan and her little story of innocence? Especially when she was driving illegally to start with?"

"That's…" Bart started to feel a little nauseated by the unfairness of it all.

"Life!"

Bart dug through the dossier, tried to find the specifics but everything was general. It was exactly what he had asked for, an brief explanation of why Lewis was being barred. He never asked for specifics until he needed them. "Can you get me the actual trial transcripts?"

"I can get you anything you want," Andrew promised.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Shhh," Serena insisted as they hit another table. Dan held back his grunt of pain. That was going to leave a mark. He kept unbuttoning her shirt as they walked, made a irregular journey to her bedroom. They'd come to the Van der Woodsen townhouse today, assured by Jenny that Rufus and Lily were planning to be at the Humphrey loft. They'd been sneaking around for nearly four days since that first kiss in the courtyard. It's not that they were ashamed, far from it. It's not because they preferred secrecy. It's just that neither of them wanted to have _that _conversation with their parents.

"Oh my god," Dan mumbled into her ear as Serena bit his collarbone. It was exposed, his shirt having been unbuttoned before they'd even reached the elevator.

"That good," Serena teased in her throaty voice. "Shall I bite you again?"

"Serena!" The voice pierced right through the moment, brought Serena's thoughts from delightfully hazy to far too clear. Apparently Jenny had been wrong! Serena pulled her shirt closed, tried to do the same for Dan but it was far too late. "What is this?" Her mother shrieked.

Serena took a deep breath, gave her head a spin and wished she still had her hair to hide behind. "Hi mom," She offered weakly instead.

Lily was frozen solid in the middle of their living room, Rufus didn't fare any better behind her. They stared in sequence, eyes unblinking at the sight of their children in various states of undress. Dan waved. Yes, he actually waved.

"You're back together?" Rufus asked the obvious.

Serena and Dan shook their heads in unison.

"Oh Lord," Lily grabbed at her side, felt the sudden urge to sit down.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck stopped at the music room when he arrived back home, let his bag fall to the carpet as he watched the two at the piano. Roman was sitting beside his future daughter, fingers moving with ease across the keys. He stopped and prompted her, chastised her mistakes until Blair huffed in anger, breathed upward at her bangs. Chuck pulled at his tie and threw it on top of his bag. It'd been around his neck for the entire flight. He was tired. He'd spent five days learning as much as he could. That moment in the limousine had been his wake up call, in the world of business there was so much he still didn't know. The call to Blair was encouragement to find it out.

Blair turned her head when her eyes caught the movement. She smiled as he tugged, nearly laughed as he tossed the tie aside. He looked like what he was, a weary businessman returning from the office. It was a sight she could grow used to. Roman followed Blair's eyes and nodded his head. He stood up but Chuck waved him back. "Don't let me stop you."

That turned Blair's smile a little thin. She hated the piano. Okay that wasn't entirely true. She loved piano music; she just didn't appreciate her pathetic attempts at making it.

"Why don't you play me a song," Chuck suggested and Blair's smile turned to a glare. Roman was oblivious. He started anyway and Blair was forced to follow along. They got only through the first movement when the door opened. Dorota pushed her head into the room, informed Roman that the caterer was on the phone. Roman and Harold's wedding was approaching and the planning for it had started to invade every moment of regular life. Roman made his excuses and left the two alone.

"What no music?" Chuck teased as he drew close.

"Roman thinks all accomplished woman should play the piano," Blair rolled her eyes and gave one slam, jumble of music splitting the silence.

"It's a good thing he was a later arrival," Chuck said as his fingers ran across the keys. "Otherwise you wouldn't have been a prima ballerina." Chuck ribbed. Blair had been neither. She'd simply convinced her mother that she couldn't take ballet lessons and piano lessons simultaneously. And let's face it, when one option involved pink dresses and countless pairs of shoes and the other was rife with middle aged women who loved to shout, it was a pretty simple choice. Even at five Blair had been able to argue her way out of anything. Of course, she'd had to maintain the ballet lessons for another five years.

"Like you're so great," Blair threw back.

"You might be surprised," Chuck arched one brow as he sat down. "I've been practicing."

"You've been practicing the piano?"

"At Clayton House," Chuck explained. "They had a music room."

Blair smiled at the confession. Chuck hadn't said anything about his ten days at rehab. His friends didn't even know what State the facility was in, nevermind the daily schedule. "What else did you do?"

"I swam," Chuck admitted as his fingers trailed over the first cords. "Did an insane amount of homework, attended meetings, even tried fencing."

"Fencing?"

"Yeah, seriously." Chuck shook his head, thoughts at first joyful and then serious. "Mostly I did lots of thinking."

"Did you arrive at any conclusions?"

"Lots." Chuck's fingers moved easily up and down the keys, pulled the complicated beginning from paper to sound. "My roommate was the spitting imagine of Nate," Chuck laughed at the memory.

"Really?"

"Freakishly so," Chuck pulled his hands away, returned the room to silence. "Except he was like a hundred pound drug addict."

"That's kind of a big difference."

"Point taken," Chuck conceded. "Now it's your turn."

"I've never been to rehab."

"To play the piano," Chuck smirked as she blushed.

Blair tried her best but if her rhythm wasn't off then she'd block out the wrong keys or hit the ones beside. It sounded terrible. Blair gave a grunt of frustration after her fifth run through. "I remember why I hated this."

"Just watch me," Chuck moved his own fingers back to the keys, played at a slower tempo so she could study each movement. It didn't help. When it was her turn again, the sounds she created were far from light or pleasing.

"I give up," Blair said with a shake of her hands.

"Don't," Chuck pulled her hands back as she pulled them away. "I'll show you a trick my old piano instructor used to use with me." Chuck put his hands in the starting position. "Lay your fingers over mine."

"Excuse me."

"Match your fingers to mine," Chuck explained again. "I'll lead you through the movements."

Blair could feel her cheeks flush as she covered his hands with hers. Her fingers were so much smaller that she had to lay her palms against the top of his fingers to make them match. It brought not only the tips flush, but the lower part of her arms as well. She had to sit close to make it work, had to breath in his scent though she didn't dare to turn her face. "I'll bet your piano instructor was some hot student." She tried to chase away the awkwardness.

"He was a forty year old, balding member of the symphony orchestra."

That made Blair smile, a smile that didn't drop until his fingers started to move. The touch was so innocent, a simple rubbing of one skin against the other as he moved. It was enough. Nothing felt innocent with them.

"Much better," Chuck encouraged but Blair knew it was all him. He was the one pounding the keys. The only thing pounding in her was her heart. It rushed in her ears, pulled her thoughts from playing until her hands fell fully away, hit the wrong keys with a jarring note.

"Sorry," Blair said even though she wasn't. She was only sorry that the warmth was gone.

"Here," Chuck flipped the page back to the beginning. Listen to the rhythm and then we'll try again. Chuck cleared his throat and Blair's heart doubled its pace. Chuck was going to sing. He hadn't done that since the strange Lionel Ritchie impersonation last summer. She'd been secretly wishing for a repeat all along. His fingers moved easily across the keys, voice rising to meet it. Chuck had a beautiful voice, deep and throaty but still airy enough to show his youth.

_Time, where did you go? Why did you leave me here alone? Wait; don't go so fast, I'm missing the moments as they pass._

Chuck stopped as easily as he started, looked over with a smirk. "Did you get it?"

"Get what?" Blair asked back. Was she supposed to be learning something? It wasn't a fair expectation. All she could focus on was his song.

"The rhythm."

"I think you might need to sing it again," Blair answered.

Chuck turned back to the sheet. He put his fingers to the keys and then changed his mind. He flipped away from the first page and its difficult beginning. He sought out an easier section, kept turning until he'd reached nearly the end. "Let's try this," He suggested. "It's easier than the beginning."

"What is?"

"This," Chuck pointed at the paper, found the row that was their starting point.

"How do you even know this song?" Blair teased as his fingers moved.

"My father dated a lot of twenty year olds," Chuck admitted. There was a crash of metal, followed by Roman's agitated voice. Apparently he was having more troubles with the caterer. "Of course he had enough common sense not to marry them." Chuck teased as he put his fingers back to the keys. He waited for Blair to join him and when she didn't, he stared but she was still lost. "You need to put your fingers back."

"Oh," Blair pressed them back to his, felt the same butterflies jump at first touch. He led her through, let his voice rise up again into the quiet space.

_I should've known better. I shouldn't have wasted those days and afternoons and mornings I threw them all away. Now this is my time. I'm going to make this moment mine. I'll take what you give me, please know that I'm learning. I've looked in the mirror and my world's getting clearer. So wait for me this time._

His fingers stopped on the final note, held their place splayed out on black and white. He didn't withdraw and neither did she. After a moment neither could feign it was a mistake, pull back and cover it with a laugh. That's when Blair pushed Chuck's hands downward, and when he inched his fingers apart to allow her slender ones entrance. That's when she wound her fingers through his and held his hand in an entirely different context than friendly. It was enough to bring a natural blush to Blair's cheeks, to make Chuck's breathing thin. "Blair," Chuck whispered first and she turned.

"Chuck," She sighed in return, felt her eyes fall so naturally to his lips and his to hers. Blair was pretty sure she kissed him first, closed the distance before something could pull them apart. It was as explosive as she remembered, probably more so. The butterflies were outdone by fireworks, hands breaking only to explore the other. She pulled at his collar, forced him even closer to her. His hands found the small of her back, fingers pushing back with equal ardour. For a moment it was pure bliss, not just a return of the old but something entirely different. Her entire body exploded with desire, cheeks flushing as his tongue prodded and his fingertips teased. For a moment it was mesmerizing.

Then Chuck jumped away from her, threw his body against the grand piano, jumble of noise not breaking the moment as much as the unreserved panic on his face. He pulled further away, crossed a leg over the bench and walked backward. The cord which has soared forward so happily snapped back with a vengeance that ripped through them both. He tripped over his own bag as he walked, righting himself with a grab at the neighbouring lamp. It teetered but didn't fall. Chuck was out of the door within a minute.

Blair just didn't understand why.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – And alas we're hitting the last third of my last book. :) And the next scene is some CE because let's face it, I've been missing them. Can E beat some sense into his older brother? And just for the record vis-à-vis canon. I adored the show tonight. But after C made the choices he did why couldn't he discuss them with E? E was __actually in__ this show for what? A 20 second cameo? It makes me want to cry! I think after my wishes for a BC S3 I'd give my right arm for some CE scenes (maybe my left one, I'm right handed after all)._

_BrittyKay – I think I'd equate Bart's speech in last chapter to his speech to Chuck at the end of S1 though the context was obviously better._

_GGloverxx19 – Yes, Nate is going to be involved and the last third of this is going to involve a sort of triangle (sometimes rectangle)._

_Tomboy-girl21 – Thank you so much for reviewing. I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my little tale of woe. I agree with your take on Bart-Lily. I think Bart could have really helped her to grow up and sometimes I think she treated him the way she did because she could see that too and was afraid of it. I'm afraid I've lost all my love for Lily though. I also miss CE. What was the point of moving Chuck back into the Van der Woodsen home if they were going to entirely lose the family dynamic from then on?_

_OC-Journey – Chuck is going to discuss his issues at the starting of the next chapter. Don't forget that Eric already knows. When will he discuss it with others (like B)? I'm not sure he'll ever say the words but Blair will know none-the-less._

_Sky Samuelle – I always wanted C to have a happy, loving family so that when the time comes C will be able to have that with someone else. You should cut N a little slack (or not ;) ) At least N is keeping the thoughts in his head… at present…_

_Annablake – thank you for the lovely PM. It made my morning as your reviews usually do :) I really sympathize with my character of Bart too. He is quite different from the show though and I can see where I get those other comments. I had the benefit of stopping at a point where Bart was still pretty redeemable. There was some stuff he did post TH canon that would have been harder for me to reconcile. Nate's taking action starting next chapter. I should say that the rest of this story starts what I thought could have once upon a time be Nate centric. Serena still has a bit of growing up to do but it's N that's going to get his wake up call by the end of this._

_Miazmija – Yeah, Vanessa is a bit stupid when it comes to Nate. Oh well, maybe she'll learn from her mistakes or N will learn from his._

_Ingridmarie – Hmm, AA meetings. There was a Tuesday, then a Thursday and that piano scene was on the following Tuesday at about 6pm. His meetings are at 10. Personally, I don't think it'd be advisable for C to miss another one. His dad doesn't know btw._

_Blair S - Don't condemn Bart to loneliness forever. He's mourned her seven years already. Isn't that enough? Hmm, maybe not!_

_Up Next – I need me some Chuck and Eric, Nate shows that he might have morals after all, Blair can't keep straight who she's supposed to be jealous of._


	45. Chapter Eighteen Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Eighteen – Part Two**

Eric found his brother at 151. It was part of the regular circuit, the list of haunts where Chuck could be found when he was lost. This one was inscribed in purple ink between 1812 and an ancient dock on the East River. They really needed to update that list. 1812 was back to being part of the renter's pool and that dock, well it had finally fallen in. Eric wished he could rewrite to exclude this place and every other like it. The bar was a haze of cheap cologne and strobe lights; Tuesday evening crowd barely filling the front row of booths. Chuck was in the back, right side, same as always. He had his feet up on the opposite couch, glass of scotch circling the table, liquid forming small waves as he turned it around. Eric closed his eyes as he felt the disappointment rush up. He tried to rid himself of it before he met Chuck. That kind of response wouldn't help the situation. Chuck didn't see him until Eric was there. Then, he gave only a quick glance and turned his eyes back to the glass. His lips were set firmly down, clenching of his teeth cutting two lines into the base of his chin as he twisted.

"How much have you had to drink?" Eric asked as he sat across from the boy who would, for him at least, always be his brother.

"Not a thing," Chuck said with a final look at the glass. He pushed it across to the blonde without hesitation. "It just didn't seem right to think with nothing."

Eric waved a waitress over, disposed of the one glass of vice in favour of two of ginger ale. "Blair called me."

"Yeah," Chuck whispered as he intertwined his fingers, crossed and stretched them across the table. He wasn't surprised. Eric and Blair had become increasingly close over the last months.

"You shouldn't have done that Chuck."

Chuck gave a curt laugh, sound devoid of any mirth. He kept his eyes down on the chipped wood that served as table. This place truly was a dump by Upper East Side standards. "I shouldn't have kissed her."

"You shouldn't have run away," Eric corrected as the waitress dropped their new order.

Chuck shook his head. "I had to."

"You need to talk to her."

Chuck shook his head again. He wasn't discussing _that_ with her. "It's better if I don't."

"For who?" Eric asked while Chuck tried turning the pop in his hand. It had a similar yellow hue that decorated the cuts of crystal; lit the table with a comparable amber patterning but it just wasn't the same. "She loves you Chuck."

"I know that."

"And you love her."

"So?" Chuck let the glass fall back down, finally met his younger brother's eyes. He saw the concern in them and that bothered him. Everyone was always concerned about him; they always pitied him, feared what he might do. That would likely _never_ end. "From me? What's that worth?"

"More than you think."

"Blair deserves some white knight," Chuck explained. "Or a Prince Charming. Not some emotional screw up who needs to be on medication to keep from shooting himself."

Eric denied that with a shake and Chuck hated the disagreement. It was a simple equation, 1+1=2, except with him it's would always be 1-1=0 because he always took away. "What about what Blair wants." Eric tried again.

"You think she'd really want me despite everything?"

"Ask her. I think she'd surprise you."

"Oh, I know she'd say yes," Chuck admitted. "But she'd live to regret it."

"How do you know that?"

"History."

"Sometimes couples deserve a second chance." Eric spoke knowingly.

"And sometimes they should avoid them."

"Don't give up."

"Giving up is better than letting Blair become a Bart to my Misty."

"What? No!" Eric snapped back to attention. "Don't even think that!"

"Why not?"

"You don't know that would happen."

"I'm on the same medication as her," Chuck gave one last look at the new glass and then shoved it across the table same as the first. "The _exact_ same one."

"Not for the same reasons."

Chuck gave that cold chuckle again. "For how long?"

"Chuck, it's entirely normal for people to be put on antidepressants after a suicide attempt. I was on Zoloft for six months after mine and I didn't even have the history of panic attacks."

"And my mom didn't attempt suicide until she was 39. She just happened to be _really _good at it."

"Chuck, stop."

"No! You think I'm willing to take that risk with Blair?"

"So that's it? You're going to give up forever just because of what might happen?"

"She deserves better Eric."

"And what do you deserve?"

Chuck shook his head, regressed to where he had started. "I'm going to marry some trophy wife with too big breasts and too little intelligence, birth a couple heirs and then screw my way through every Victoria Secret catalogue printed."

"_That's_ a life plan?"

"It's always been the Chuck Bass plan."

Eric supposed it had been. It fit perfectly with the boy his brother had once been. It was also a signpost of how far he'd come. "Is that what you _really_ want?"

"At least some bimbo won't care if I follow in my mother's footsteps…right off the Brooklyn Bridge."

"Chuck! I think…"

"What do you think?" Chuck reflected before Eric could put it to words. He stared hard at his younger brother, eyes unflinching and certainly not caring what the boy truly was thinking. Eric was pretty sure his brother would listen only enough to assemble counter arguments.

Eric tried hard to find the piece that could be pulled free, that would allow him entry into Chuck's thoughts. He searched for that part that was weak, undetermined but it was hidden too fully to make use of. So Eric gave up, at least for tonight. "I think it's 9:30 on a Tuesday night and you know where you need to be."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was 10:00pm when Lily preformed her daily ritual, dialled the number to Damien's apartment and waited for the usual response. When it came, Lily held the phone to her ear until she heard the beeps that signalled disconnect: that disconnect wasn't just a phone line. Her son had hung up on her again. It was the third time that week. It'd likely have been more but she'd limited herself to one call a day. It always went the same. He asked the only question he wanted an answer to. Would she give up Rufus? She never refused, just tried to manoeuvre away. He never listened, just ended the call as fast as it started.

Lily sat heavily on the couch. She was exhausted enough to miss the former Eric: the boy who had accepted everything, was a leaf to her and her daughter's whims: the son who always had a sarcastic throwback but never a backbone. She supposed it was even worse of her to want that. She stared at her lover. He reflected her disappointment, brown hair brushed to one side and eyes as sad as hers. Couldn't Eric see that Rufus wasn't another man like the others? He was something so much better. He would be the best for everyone. He'd always been the best for her but then again, maybe it wasn't supposed to be about her. "He's not calming down; he's getting angrier."

"Just give him time."

"I think I've given him long enough." Lily sat further back as she contemplated.

"He's sixteen years old, he still sees the world in black and white and right now he's seeing a lot of black."

"Maybe he has reason," Lily admitted. "Maybe he even has a point."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why should he trust that this time would be any different? I've done nothing but prove the opposite."

"I think he will understand once…"

"Maybe he's right." Lily crossed her legs. "I mean with Serena and Dan back together and Eric this furious. Maybe it's not the right time for us."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rufus asked.

"Eric has only two years left in school. He has been through so much already. Maybe he deserves to have two years of…I don't know. Maybe he deserves to have a mother who will put his needs first for two years. I think I should give him what he's asking."

"You're going to let him bully you?"

"He's my son," Lily pointed out. "And I'm his mother. Your children are supposed to come first."

Rufus sat heavily on the sofa at that. How could he refute it? He'd said the same thing a hundred times.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck couldn't see the ivy or the metalwork through the darkness. It was too late to be here, especially with such a small child in the house. Then again, it's not like there wasn't an army of servants to tend to visitors that came at a quarter to midnight. Chuck had walked for a bit after his meeting, spoken with his sponsor for the first time in over a week. Eric had been right. He _had_ needed that.

_Eric was usually right_.

Chuck caught sight of a blonde bob behind the servant as soon as the door opened. She would jump at the bell; she wasn't used to living with a fleet at her beckon. "Charles?" Lewis spoke as the servant retreated.

"Hi."

"Your dad is in Hong Kong."

"I know that." Chuck admitted, pulled at his collar in nervousness.

"Did you want to call him?" Lewis checked her watch. "He should be breaking for lunch shortly."

Chuck gave one last tug on his collar. "Could I stay here? Just for tonight?"

The abruptness of the request, the appearance at all made Lewis stare a little harder, study the boy for the sign of something she couldn't define, unhappiness maybe. "Of course. You can stay here whenever you want."

Chuck didn't stay to talk to her. He fled to the silver bedroom immediately, pulled the covers around his head before he could realize where he was. He lay and waited for the panic but it never came. He pulled the comforter back and studied the walls, reread the branches of his oak tree, surprised himself by how easy it was to be in _that_ room. It made it easier to focus on other things that needed deliberation. He needed a night away to manage his emotions, to choose his words, to try to figure out a way to explain his actions. He just needed to be away.

It might have been running but it wasn't hiding. Chuck took out his phone before he fell asleep, penned a text to Blair that explained where he was. He didn't want her to worry. That must have meant something.

Then he called his brother, reasked his final question with actual sincerity.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate and Serena were waiting for the Waldorf limousine, each seeking out a different traveller. Serena was looking for her best friend, bag of the day's assignments under one arm and the need for reassurance dangling somewhere on the other. She was meeting with IMG models that afternoon, future roads facing either closure or final paving. Nate was looking for Chuck, the chance to ask a single question he'd been ruminating about through the boy's absence. When Blair emerged alone only one found their goal, but neither were truly disappointed.

"Where's Chuck?" Nate asked first.

"He went to visit his father," Blair explained, tiniest flicker of disgust crossing through her brown eyes. It didn't go unnoticed. "He decided to stay there for the night."

"But Bart's in Hong Kong," Serena pointed out. Blair's eyes shot to her best friend's at the pronouncement. "Lily went by there yesterday."

"Lily went to see her ex husband?" Blair found that a bit hard to believe.

"They're trying to keep things friendly for us," Serena pointed out. "She wanted to invite him to her Gala on the 8th but he wasn't there. He'd not due back from Hong Kong for a couple days."

"Really?" Blair got that familiar crawling sensation in her stomach, her lips pursing unconsciously.

"Yeah, Ms. Smith told my mom."

That crawling sensation turned acidic, burned a little path from her knees through to her elbows, caught in her heart and blackened it the slightest.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck could smell the coffee as he reached the first level, a rich blend that scoured the halls of his father's townhouse. He gravitated towards the source, meandered down hallways until he reached the kitchen. Lewis was standing at the counter, filled cup in one hand and eyes scanning the morning paper. "Good morning," She offered once she'd swallowed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough."

"Long enough," Lewis said with a look at the clock. "You were supposed to be at school two hours ago." Chuck stared at his former teacher and figured she had to point these things out. It'd be a crime to her profession if she didn't; even if she'd only played the part of teacher for two months.

"I don't have a uniform."

"Are you sure that's the reason?"

"It's enough of one."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lewis offered. Chuck didn't bother with an answer. Lewis didn't push the issue. She opened the fridge instead, grabbed a bowl of berries and placed it on the counter. "Do you want raspberry pancakes and to not talk about it?"

"Better option," Chuck said and pulled onto one of the kitchen's bar style stools. He grabbed a coffee mug from the hanging rack and filled it with dark liquid. He waited for the questions to come despite her promise. They didn't. Lewis grilled only his pancakes on the skittle, passed them with a mountain of berries and whipped cream. She stayed silent even when while he ate, kept reading the newspaper as if this was just another morning and he was always there. Chuck was a bit unnerved at first but then he realized something. She was the kind of woman who could be comfortable in silence. They were hard to find. So he cut his last pancake, let the silence match until the patter of feet broke it.

"Duck!" Aidan ran from his nanny and pointed at Chuck. The older boy arched one brow and stuffed another mouthful of raspberry laden pancake in his mouth. "Look mommy! Duck!"

Lewis laughed as she leaned down to her son and repeated very slowly. "CCCCChhhhhhuck. Ch, Ch, Ch CCCChhhhhuck."

"D D D Duck." Aidan tried again.

It was enough for Chuck's smile to break through. Lewis was about to try a second round when Chuck's phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw the message from Nate.

**Hoops at Central?**

**After school?**

**How about now?**

**I can meet you in thirty.**

**Okay.**

Chuck stood up, moved his plate relatively closer to the dishwasher. "I think I'm going to head out." Lewis nodded her head from where she knelt beside her own son. "Thanks," Chuck finished before he crossed beyond the door.

"Anytime." Lewis called through the divide. "Maybe next time you'll talk."

"Maybe," Chuck agreed with a final spin.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun had yet to crest in the sky as Chuck manoeuvred easily around his best friend, far too easily to be true. Nate usually bettered him at least two to one but today the blonde was slow and distracted. He actually tripped in one corner and was throwing more air than net. Chuck watched his own lay-up fall and then called him on it. "What is wrong with you today?" He asked as he palmed the ball and put it to his side.

"You're just playing well," Nate attempted.

"Sure," Chuck leaned down and bounce passed the ball to the blonde. "So good I'm up 24-8?"

"You're getting better." It was true. Chuck had assembled enough of an athletic schedule to rival his best friend. It didn't mean he ought to be bettering the blonde lacrosse champion. Chuck was not a natural athlete.

"Maybe there's something," Nate admitted.

"Like?"

Nate bounced the ball a few times, palmed it and then held it out to his friend. "I want to ask Blair to prom," Nate said. "But I wanted to ask you if it was alright first."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well I'm not seeing anyone right now. And Blair doesn't have a date so I thought…"

"I meant why are you asking my permission?" Chuck pulled the ball away.

"Well…I…"

"She's not my girlfriend," Chuck pointed through a dribble, eyes trailing to the ball as it bounced. "She's free to go with whoever she wants."

"I know that, but…"

"I meant what I said before," Chuck explained as he turned away. "Blair and I will never be together that way," He swore as he pushed the ball off his fingertips. The intention wasn't any clearer even while his words pretended to be. The ball bounced off the edge of the hoop, sailed wildly to one side. Chuck chased after it.

"So I have your blessing?" Nate yelled over the increased divide.

"Like I said," Chuck called back as he caught the basketball. "You don't need it." He finished as he tossed the ball back to Nate, threw a little harder than needed to cross the new distance. "Your shot Nathaniel."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck pulled his hood back as he entered the Waldorf Penthouse. The morning sun had been traded for greyer skies, dusting of rain replacing rays of sun. He caught sight of Blair immediately. She was standing in the front entrance hall, white lilies setting a backdrop to her brown curls. They were twisted into a high ponytail, yellow print dress draped in all the right places. "Blair," He started as she turned, brown eyes full of something. It might have been love on first glance, all fire and passion. That was only on first glance because within a second you saw that the fire was really annoyance and the passion was more like fury. Chuck could feel his breathing hitch. He had his speech prepared, had spent hours walking until he'd arrived at something that fit. Based on those eyes it wouldn't make a difference.

That was until something else caught his eye, to the side, sitting like the statues in the park was Vanessa Abrams. She was frozen like those in steel but far too colourful to be an artefact. She was wearing a green tank with white pants, gathering of necklaces to beautify her neck and a loosely tied scarf to manage her curls. She was clutching her green carry bag like a shield and staring straight at him.

"Chuck," Blair spat back but he's pretty sure it wasn't at him, just at the Brooklyn intrusion to her home. "Vanessa is here." She threw it out with that sparkly voice, the artificially perky one he hated most.

"Good afternoon," Chuck arched one brow and turned away.

"To see you," Blair continued in just as an unfriendly tone.

"For me?" Chuck repeated before he caught himself. Then he joined the brunette in staring at the intruder. "Vanessa?"

"Hi," Vanessa started with a nervous crack. "Can I speak with you?"

"You are," Chuck pointed out.

"Privately," Vanessa said with a look towards Blair.

Chuck waved his hand to the side, motioned for the study that stood at one end of the hall. He swung the door open, let her pass and then closed it behind. Vanessa eyed the expansive room in nervousness. That's when Chuck remembered; Vanessa had never entered the Waldorf Penthouse. Chuck gave another look at the woodwork and decided it could be intimidating for someone like her. It's lucky she would never see his father's house. She'd have a heart attack at first sight. Or maybe not. She'd dated Nate for nearly a year after all. She'd been in large houses. Perhaps it was something else that had her unnerved. "So?" Chuck began as he leaned against the desk, legs crossing in front to match his arms.

Vanessa took one deep breath before she began, forced her face to a neutral position before she opened her lips. "I'm here to ask what you're doing on the 8th of May."

"Why?" Chuck's smirk grew in bemusement.

"There's this movie…"

"You're asking me to a movie?" Chuck couldn't hold back the snicker.

"No, not a movie," Vanessa blew angrily at her hair. "Well, yes, it is a movie."

"It either is or isn't," Chuck pointed out. This was beyond amusing.

"It's a film that I wrote."

"Well that makes it _special_" Chuck teased through another smirk. The lifting of one lip had taken anchor in his face.

"Do you remember me mentioning a film competition?" Vanessa started over.

"I'm not sure. Did you mention it before or after your legs were on my shoulders?"

Vanessa huffed visibly again, little puff of air that came between pursed lips. Chuck was left wondering why exactly she was here. Did Brooklynites play games of truth or dare? Probably not. Or if they did, Chuck doubted Dan was capable of something _this_ good.

"I was invited by the New York Academy of Film to write a script for a fictional short. It was part of a competition for a full scholarship and my film won."

"Did you want me to congratulate you?" Chuck asked sarcastically.

"Having a full scholarship is the _only_ way for me to afford post secondary education."

Chuck bit back the snark at that. It was almost humbling.

"I would really appreciate if you would attend the screening as my personal guest."

"I'm flattered but shouldn't you be taking Humphrey Dumphrey?"

"It's important to me that you come," Vanessa swore. "And I'd prefer it if you came by yourself."

Chuck smirk widened in full understanding. "Are you trying to get me alone Ms. Abrams?"

"What?" Vanessa returned; face screwing up at the suggestion.

"You don't have to be embarrassed to admit it," Chuck continued. "I have that effect…on _a lot_ of women."

Vanessa's face wound tighter than rope, lip instinctively curling upward to expose one side of her teeth. She pulled an invitation out before the conversation could continue. "Here's your ticket," She laid it on the table and tried to flee before he had a chance to twist that into some sort of perverted comment.

"And which door would I be entering by?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair pushed her ear tighter to the thick door, tried to make out what Chuck was saying to the Brooklyn intrusion. She'd heard a bit of the beginning but that was before the voices dropped. It was hard, they were talking way too soft and the door was far too thick. It made her yearn for the days of the Van der Bass penthouse and it's strangely thin walls. She closed her eyes and tried but all she could catch was _alone _before the screaming started. It wasn't the best word to end her mission on.

"Blair!" Serena's voice carried through the entire lower floor, and likely much of the upper ones. The heels banged across the entrance as she moved. She rushed down hallways until she caught sight of her brunette best friend. Blair tried to quiet her with a hand, kept her ear to the door but Serena just screamed louder. "Blair!"

Blair pushed off the door, marched her stocking clad feet across the heated floors (heels would have given her away), grabbed her blonde friend by the arm and shoved her into the nearest room. It was the music room. Perhaps that was a mistake.

"What's up with you?" Serena asked as Blair sat in a flurry of rage.

"I _was_ doing recognisance."

"Where's your beret?"

"I never wear it inside."

"_Okay_," Serena shook her head, crossed her arms curiously. "Who's the target? Is Dorota overstarching the sofa covers again?"

"Vanessa is talking to Chuck."

"Vanessa?" Serena's face went vacant with the force of her surprise.

"And they were just getting to the good part when you interrupted."

"Why is she here?"

"She was inviting Chuck to some movie she made."

"Really?" Serena's surprise was traded for bemusement. The blonde thought it over for only a moment before the laughter started.

"It's not funny!"

"Yes it is."

"It's not," Blair snapped harder.

"Do you remember Chuck's response to her last artistic foray?"

Blair's peeved expression cracked for a moment. She did remember her, Eric and Chuck's circular mocking of Vanessa's ode to Dan. Then she remembered that that was over a year ago and Chuck had slept with her since. It returned the glower. "It's still not funny," she snapped again.

"Now you're jealous of Vanessa?"

"At least he hadn't slept with Lewis. Well, that we know of."

"Whoa Blair, you need to get a handle on yourself."

"Why is she inviting him to do anything?"

"You really _are_ jealous."

"God," Blair pulled the ponytail from her hair, let the curls fall free.

"Over both?"

"I've forgotten who I'm supposed to hate at the moment." Blair spat. There were too many options: gorgeous former teachers and strange bohemian cuties.

"Just calm down Blair."

"I can't."

"I want you to think about this. You already spent the morning in a rage over some thirty-three year old mother."

"Wait," That little nugget cut Blair's thoughts a moment. "She's thirty-three?"

"Over some _thirty-three_ year old mother," Serena continued unfettered. "And now you're jealous over some girl that Chuck _told_ Nate meant nothing to him."

"No!" Blair covered her face with her hands, gave her head a shake and then sat down. "Yes! I don't know!"

"What is happening?"

"Chuck kissed me," Blair looked to her friend with a big exhalation. "And it was so amazing. It was like every part of my body burst into flame. _Really_ S, I have never felt anything like that and I don't know if it's because it had been so long or just because he _is_ amazing but…" Blair covered her face again. She could feel the pressure building in her chest but she didn't know whether she wanted to cry or scream.

"Calm down Blair," Serena sat beside her, put her arm around her smaller friend's shoulders.

"And then he ran away and he spent the night at his dad's house."

Serena took a deep breath, shook her head and tried not to get angry at her former brother.

"Why is everything so complicated?" Blair asked, tears finally winning out. "I see you and Dan get back together like it's so easy. And I…" Blair rubbed at her eyes as the first tear fell. "I just want that too."

"It _is_ easier for Dan and I," Serena pointed out.

"It's just that these last couple weeks have been, I don't know. It's like at times I'm so sure that he loves me, it's like it's _there_ and then he just pulls back and I don't know what to think again."

"He _does_ love you Blair."

"Then why won't he trust me?"

"Because he's Chuck," Serena pointed out. "And, in his own way, he's gone through as much as you this last year, if not more. He's _still_ going through it."

"I know."

"Give him time. Don't force things," Serena advised. "Everything will sort itself out."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Blair, Chuck loves you."

"I'm not so sure."

"Chuck has _always_ loved you. He's _always_ told you things he wouldn't dare to share with anyone else, his most horrific moments and the worst secrets. He's _always_ come to you first and has _only_ ever listened to your advice." Blair took a deep breath, gave her cheeks a final brush and pulled her hair back again. "And you are the _only_ one he has ever really respected, ever put _first_ in his life or made sacrifices for. _He loves you_!"

Blair shook her head in acknowledgement of Serena's words.

"You need to give him time," Serena repeated with a cup of her best friend's chin. "Don't force things because if you do then he _will _run because that's all he knows to do."

Blair could feel her raging emotions quiet to a slow tremor, fears dissipate into an understanding that she knew but needed someone else to sort through. "Thank you." Blair said in the end and Serena hugged her, deep and full like best friends should.

"Now can I tell you my news?" Serena asked as she let go.

"Yes," Blair agreed with a shake of her head, smile returning only when Serena's enthusiasm dragged it out.

"IMG has chosen to represent me," Serena said with a toss of her head, a curl of her shoulders upward with her smile. "I'm going to be a professional model!"

"Did you ever really doubt it?"

"_Yes_!" Serena admitted. "So much!" Serena described the entire meeting from beginning to end, flawless face breaking into smile after smile, voice dropping down and then rising again with her joy. Blair tried to be happy but she still had qualms about the entire situation, a tiny niggling doubt that said this wasn't the life for her best friend. "I could end up travelling all over the world like Kathy: Brazil, Hong Kong, all through Europe. Do you know she even did a show in New Zealand?"

Blair hoped that would be the only thing Serena had in common with Kathy but, if last month was any proof, it wouldn't be. Still as Serena rambled on, spun a tale like a record, faster and higher and louder, Blair couldn't help but spin along with it. Her doubts receded as the fervour grew, her mind turning nearly as fast as Serena's.

"The best clothes, the best cities and the best _parties_."

Until it didn't. The pin dragged fully across the record, brought Blair's eagerness to a sudden halt. "Serena." Blair started shaking her head immediately.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was waiting at the door when Serena left. She barely even acknowledged him as she brushed past, clutch dangling from one hand, bracelets from the other. Chuck waited another minute, stood at the door and studied Blair. The sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon, bright light of central day turning to a muted light of the evening. He watched her through the shadows. She was angry, her lips were pursed and her eyes were narrowed but she was still beautiful. She was always beautiful. "Blair." She looked up and Chuck saw the battle between the smile and glower. He figured he deserved at least that. She deserved a lot more too, some sort of explanation for his actions. "I…"

"It's okay Chuck," Blair said as the smile won out.

"No, it's…"

"I understand," She said softly and Chuck was dumbfounded. "When you're ready."

Chuck nodded his head, tension in his chest exploding to nothing with her patience. It made him want to be ready, took those intentions and spun them once more to the right. They were flipping as often as his heart: one way at night, another in the morning, somewhere in between through lunch and actually standing before her, well he was certifiable. So he took what she offered instead, gave a final nod and shifted topics to something neutral. "Was Serena screaming for the reason I think?" Chuck waved at the door as he asked.

"Yes," Blair admitted with none of the joy.

"And you don't approve?"

"Why would I?"

"Come on Blair. It's not like Serena was destined to go to Brown and become some scholar. Sitting around and getting her photo taken is the perfect life for her."

"How about the life that goes with that? The parties and the drugs."

"I think Serena learned that lesson last year." Chuck said confidently.

"I would have thought that too." Blair countered his assuredness. "Until Kathy made Serena her new buddy once you left."

"She hung out with Kathy?"

"Until all hours of the night," Blair arched a brow. Kathy might have been Chuck's cousin, and he might have loved her without question, but he knew too much about that cousin's tendencies to doubt the rest. It made him shake his head in disgust, tongue going to one cheek as he pondered. "I tried to talk to her about it but Serena isn't listening to me." Blair crossed her arms and took a deep breath.

"She'll figure it out. Hopefully before she destroys any career she has."

"Or worse?" Blair prompted. This was not the sort of thing that should be solved with time and trials and errors. It was too dangerous. Chuck knew that. "I need you to talk to her?"

"What good is that going to do?" Chuck asked. "If she's not listening to you then she's not going to listen to me."

Blair didn't say anything at first; she just stared straight into his eyes and waited for the information to clear through. She could see it in his reaction. His eyes were flippant at first, posture straight but once he realized what she wanted him to talk about his mouth cracked, eyes grew wider against his pale skin. "_You know_," He realized. His eyes were to the carpet the instant she nodded. He didn't know what to say to that.

"Can you talk to her?" Blair tried again.

"I don't…"

"She's still technically your sister," Blair pointed out. It was true. The divorce wouldn't be finalized for at least another week.

Chuck never said whether he would or wouldn't but, when he rebuttoned his jacket, Blair guessed that it wasn't to run away. She took a deep breath and thanked the gods for returning _this_ Chuck Bass to her. It almost made her forget the other visit. "Wait," Blair said as he was turning away. "What did Vanessa want?"

"To invite me to some movie thing," Chuck rolled his eyes as he said it. That was comforting.

"Are you going to go?"

"I don't know," Chuck shrugged his shoulders.

That wasn't enough for Blair so she added her own answer to it. "We should all go," she suggested. "Like last year."

"If you want," Chuck said as he left. He wanted to catch Serena before she got home. He wasn't interested in seeing the Van der Woodsen apartment. When the doors opened at entry floor, Chuck caught only one familiar blonde head in the distance, moving that way. Chuck took a sharp left. He wasn't looking for that one.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By the time the elevator doors dinged for the fourth time, Blair was beginning to think her house was Grand Central. Nate walked out, rumpled tan pants playing off a navy blue sweater and Oxford collar. He'd layered that with a suede jacket despite the rain. Definitely an Archibald. "You just missed him," Blair pointed out.

"I actually came to see you."

"Oh," Blair brushed at her yellow skirt and waited. When Nate just lingered in the hall, Blair decided she'd better invite him in. They'd made it to the main entertainment room, turned on the television and sat on the main couch before Nate made his intentions clear.

"I've come to ask you to prom."

"You want to go with _me_?" Blair gave another brush of her skirt at that thought. It was positively odd.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not seeing anyone right now and when I think about prom all I can remember is you. How jealous you were of the seniors every single year or how much you wanted to outdo everyone when it was your turn. I mean you even had that scrapbook."

Blair turned her eyes away at the memory. She did have a scrapbook once, filled with possible dresses and every other intricate detail to the night. It was a pointless exercise. Did she really expect to wear something fashionable in 2005 for a prom in 2009? It was the dreams of a high school freshman. She just wished she could dismiss them as easily as physical education 8.

"It just seems natural for me to invite you," Nate said with a tug of his lip.

It was a familiar speech. Blair had heard one similar to it a year before. Then she'd cared more than she ought to have. Now, well she was lower than neutral.

"I talked to Chuck."

That snapped Blair's eyes back. "You spoke to him."

"Yeah, today, just to see that he was okay with it."

"What did he say?" Blair asked.

"He's got no problem."

"He said that."

"Yeah," Nate promised. "He even said I didn't need to ask him first."

That turned Blair's lips downward. It's not that she wanted to be a possession but…oh who the hell knew what they were.

"So?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck didn't get either wish that night. He knocked on the Van der Woodsen apartment heavily, sharp knocks rattling through the expansive suite. The door was opened immediately, servant recognizing the once brother and waving him through without question. Chuck tried to sneak through the central room but Lily still caught sight of him, stood immediately. "Charles." She said it too easily, like she had the right to talk to him. Chuck kept walking right past. She tried the name again and Chuck was happy he knew the location of Serena's bedroom. He could find it in the dark, a necessity when you were part of a group of three trying to restore a princess to her castle without waking the army of guards. He was through the door before Lily could try a third time. Serena had her pillow in her arms, enthusiasm from earlier dealt a blow from Blair's uncompromising disapproval. "Chuck," Serena stared up. She could guess why he was here. "Are you going to try to make me change my mind too?"

"Do I need to?"

"Why can't you and Blair just be happy for me? I _really_ want this."

"Because we're worried."

"It's like Blair never trusts me to make the right choices for myself."

"Did you ever think that's because you usually don't."

"That was the past. I'm growing up."

"Were you a grown up with Kathy?" Chuck asked.

"I told Blair that we didn't do any drugs." Chuck let one brow rise; it was enough to convey the message. Did she really expect Chuck to believe that? "It didn't hurt Kathy in the long run," Serena pointed out.

"Are you kidding me?" Chuck sat on the bed beside Serena, crossed one leg over the other knee and draped his hand over an ankle. "I love my cousin," Chuck stared, "but she's _stupid_. She only salvaged her career because of the body of work she had already accumulated."

"Do you really disapprove?" Serena asked. "Because there was a time when you didn't."

"So maybe I'm stupid too."

"I mean you're the one who offered it to me first."

"And I'm sorry for that. I had my own lessons to learn."

"I just," Serena shook her head, "don't think it's as big a deal as Blair always makes it out to be."

And that was the moment Chuck knew Blair was right. He didn't want to discuss his own past, had come with the intent of simply adding another voice to the disapproval, but Blair was right, Serena needed more. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and jumped feet first. "It is."

"I don't think…"

"I know it's a big deal." Chuck started. "It's the kind of stuff that will kill you."

"Well sure if you take a lot…"

"I have a little story to tell you," Chuck ran a hand through his bangs as he formulated the words. "And I'd appreciate your listening to it, _really_ listening to it."

Serena pulled the pillow tighter and waited.

"Once upon a time," Chuck began with a slip of a smirk. It disappeared as the tale started. "There were two boys who had this great idea for a competition. They weren't the type who'd try to better one another in school or sports. They're the type who tried to surpass one another in self-destruction. So they drew a line down an antique desk in permanent ink, dusted both sides with enough cocaine to fell a horse and gambled a grand on who could do more. It took less than ten minutes for one of them to drop."

Serena opened her mouth to speak but words failed.

"I had a heart attack Serena, no pulse, no breathing, nothing." Chuck pursed his lips at the memory, shook his head at his own stupidity. He didn't want to look at Serena but he needed to, so that she could truly understand. "I was dead! And if Dr. Anders hadn't been home I'd likely have stayed that way."

Serena couldn't say much to that and Chuck didn't have anything else to offer. So she just put the pillow aside, kicked her feet out straight. Chuck traded the side for the headboard, both thinking but neither speaking. Chuck just hoped that it had made a difference worth the revelation.

"Why did you do it?" Serena finally asked as the sun dipped low.

"I don't know," Chuck admitted and then shut his eyes a moment because he really did know. "I had a fight, with my dad I think. I don't even remember what it was about anymore." Chuck closed his eyes again and really chose his words carefully. "I have this part of me, deep inside that kind of likes to be at the edge of nothing: to exist in a state of total nonbeing when I can't handle feeling anything else. It's comforting to be so fucked up that you can't think. Because if you have to focus your entire attention on just keeping your vision straight, then you don't have enough left to ponder life. The problem is that I _also_ have a part of me that doesn't mind losing sight of that edge. That night I went twenty feet past it and I didn't truly know until I woke up in the hospital."

"Chuck," Serena put a hand out to his arm but he pulled it back.

"I'm managing it," Chuck promised. "But you need to know, it's _so_ easy to get to that place without choosing to start yourself halfway." He stared at his former sister as he said the words, waited to see if they'd register. "Do you understand me little sis?"

Serena nodded her head, the slow but steady movement proving that she truly did.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was waiting for him when he came back, fingers dangling lazily over a bracelet. She traced the interlocking chains of gold and platinum as he walked in, pulled it off as he sat down, and ran it between her fingers as she waited for him to speak. "How could you do that?" Blair finally asked as she let it go.

"Do what?" Chuck asked as the chain hit the table below.

"Tell Nate to invite me to prom."

"I didn't do that," Chuck corrected. "I told him it was your choice to make."

"Do you think I want to go with Nate?" Blair asked.

"I think you want to go to prom."

"I don't want Nate."

"Then say no." Chuck asked and waited for the confirmation that she had. It never came and that made him tense. It shouldn't. He couldn't make this his business.

"I meant what I said last fall." Blair said. "I want to go to prom with you!"

Those competing emotions returned with her words, the sides that wanted to both grab her and kiss her hard and to run away until no one could find him. They were mixed with another, the dread of that night. He shouldn't fear it except that it was the culmination of everything he always was. He'd threaded a thousand plans between hits of pot, and he was still afraid that one would stick despite his best attempts to wash himself clean. He wasn't sure which of the three made his shoulders shake, or turned his voice unsteady as he spoke. "Do you really think I can handle that?"

How could she? When the mere thought had him shaking to pieces?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_Jenny345 – Thanks. There will be more at some point.  
_

_Delicatedestiny – I totally miss the CE on the show. After CB it is my most missed storyline. It really choked me up that they had a chance to do it last episode (since E was actually in the show for a whole 5 seconds) and they still didn't. Have CE even had a scene since C became his brother…ummm…NO. And what do I get instead? Lots of EJ. Oh joy! (insert sarcasm here) _

_Annablake – You recognized the reflection of the line from C's poem. I give you a gold star. As for Lewis being in jail...I tried to foreshadow it with the prison tattoo at the beginning but I figured it be a wtf moment. It's my explanation for why she's so fierce._

_BrittyKay – C knows that B would stand by him but he's afraid of hurting her. He's wavering back and forth though. He made the comment to N but also called E the night before to truly get his brother's ideas so he's just trying to sort through his thoughts right now, waiting for that moment to push him either way._

_Doxeh – Yeah, I like the idea of her cutting her hair to prove she'd changed. I also like the idea of cutting her most prized 'possession' to prove how much she wanted to be a model since most of the time she tends to have momentary passions that pass._

_Ingridmarie – Why is Chuck reluctant to tell Blair? Because his mother killed herself and he's afraid that he'd do the same. _

_Richanna – Yeah it was harsh. At least Blair has Serena to lean on ;)_

_Sky Samuelle – It's odd that my characters smoke because I personally abhor it but it just seems to work for C. Ah DS. I used to really like them until Dan lost his moral compass. I don't like his character as much anymore and I wasn't totally sold on S so it's kind of "eh" for me now in canon. I still like them in my story though._

_oc-journey – Thanks. I think Blair is very bothered by the loss of her prom dream. But she'll craft another one, she's good at that._

_Jeda – I'm glad you liked the DS. I enjoy them in this story. You'll definitely see them at the prom along with the others._

_hiddenletter – Thanks ;) I think my next project will be original fiction._

_Up Next – Sooner or later it all comes down to family: Van der Woodsens, Basses and Archibalds._


	46. Chapter Eighteen Part Three

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Eighteen– Part Three**

Chuck crossed his arms as Lily entered, put his feet up on the ottoman and stared daggers. "You've got a lot of nerve," Chuck offered as his greeting. She did. To actually come to the Waldorf Penthouse, to ask to speak to _him._ He supposed she was desperate. Eric had stopped taking her calls altogether.

"Sometimes you have to."

"I'm _not_ going to help you with Eric. I'm all for him living with Damien."

"Really?"

"Over you?" Chuck arched his brow. "One hundred times."

"I don't believe that."

Chuck snorted once. "You ought to."

"I know you Charles."

"Really?"

"I know that despite everything, despite anything, you believe deeply that _family belongs together._"

Chuck tried to roll his eyes but they stayed steady, tried to refute her but he couldn't so he just turned away and hoped she'd disappear.

"I love my son," Lily swore. "Can you just tell him that because he doesn't hear it when I say it anymore?"

"Is that it?" Chuck asked evenly.

"And tell him I'll do whatever he wants."

Chuck kept his chin firm, didn't waver or flinch to show her words were the right ones. He didn't even uncross his arms until she walked out. Then he kicked his feet down and followed, keeping out of sight until she was out the front. He watched her blonde head disappear and decided he liked lilies only on the entrance table. He glanced at them as he went for the stairs, stopped after a step and turned back again. Besides the usual setting, there was a bouquet of roses, pink and white buds that spilled out of a crystal vase. It made his stomach drop, had him crossing the floor again. Chuck grabbed the card. It was unsealed and foiled in gold. The message was simple.

_Blair,_

_Thank you for agreeing to be my prom date. _

_Nate_

It was hardly anything and if it wasn't for the two dozen roses that accompanied the note Chuck might have shrugged it off. He couldn't now. He eyed the flowers, one side of his lip curling on instinct. They confirmed everything he'd suspected the day before.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

When Nate got home that evening Chuck was waiting for him. He had turned a chair from the desk, was stretched out full, black slacks offset by the twenty-first century version of a smoking jacket. Chuck had a cigarette alight and the smoke circled through his dark eyes. The eyes matched the look, long and unflinching. Nate felt the discomfort first. Before he could even intone a greeting Chuck offered one of his own. "What are your intentions towards Blair?" Chuck's voice matched his presentation, stern and calculated.

"Intentions? Is this 1809?" Nate tried to laugh it off. "Did you want to check the value of my carriage and country homes?"

Chuck didn't laugh, he didn't even smile. He just took another drag and crossed one leg over the other, waited for the answer he sought.

"Come on Chuck. I feel awkward discussing this with you."

"It's _just_ a question," Chuck said evenly.

Nate bobbed once on his feet then answered. "So maybe I want a second chance."

"Don't you mean a _third_?" Chuck corrected with that same even tone.

"Whatever," Nate dismissed the difference with a wave of his hand.

"_Why_ do you want it?"

Nate pulled at his tie. It's too bad Chuck never had a sister; he could play the part of overprotective sibling to perfection. "Because I love Blair."

That broke Chuck's neutral expression but not in the way Nate would have liked it to. Nate had wanted the other boy to relax, hoped that it would chase away any reservations Chuck might have. It didn't. The older boy tilted away, lips turning upward as he snickered. "The way you loved _Serena_ or the way you loved _Vanessa_?"

That made Nate cross his arms. "The way I love Blair." Chuck's lips stayed amused; underlay the obvious disbelief. "I know I've been insincere in the past," Nate pointed out. "But I'm changing."

Chuck snickered harder, he couldn't help himself. He just hoped Blair wasn't dumb enough to fall for this bull.

"You think I'm not," Nate spat back. He was bothered by his best friend's obvious lack of belief in him. "Do you think you have the market cornered on redemption?"

That made Chuck's snickers cease, forced his lips neutral. "I _never_ said that."

"You didn't have to." Nate threw back. He walked back to his open bedroom door, reclined one hand on the frame and used the other to wave his friend out. "Those gifts? You'd better get used to them because I'll be sending a lot more."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Shoulder check!" Lewis screamed and Chuck slammed the brakes on instinct. The other car swerved wide, honking his horn long and hard. Chuck thumped a fist to the steering wheel and tried to focus. "You really need to remember to shoulder check."

In the back Eric was stuck between laughing and silently sneaking out the side door. "I never asked you to come," Chuck snapped once he caught his brother in the rear view.

"Like I'd miss watching Chuck Bass drive on a street for the first time."

Chuck took a deep breath and tried to remember which gear shifted which way. The written test was so much easier than this. He'd only studied the book for an hour, been quizzed for another by Blair and then passed with flying colours. Maybe he should have chosen to start with automatic, but really, the best cars didn't come in automatic. Chuck ran a finger along the leather steering wheel. Like his father's town car. He could have chosen a simpler pursuit but driving had seemed simple in the parking lot. It was far different on the street with other traffic to evade but Chuck was determined towards mastery. The moment Blair had suggested he do only what he could do sober; Chuck knew he wanted to drive. It wasn't for the freedom (he always had a car at his disposal) or for the power (he had plenty) but simply because a year ago he _couldn't _have done this. So he shifted gears, looked over his shoulder _twice_ and then pulled into the busy afternoon traffic. It took another fifteen minutes before he started to relax. He'd managed to transverse countless blocks without a stall or even a grinding of the clutch. He might just be alright at this, well as long as he had Lewis to check his speed and prompt the changes. He wouldn't need that forever he reasoned. Or else Blair had better learn to drive so she could assist. That thought distracted him enough for a delivery truck to veer in front of him, pass within inches of his bumper. Chuck slammed the brakes, resulting in his first stall. So much for perfect. The problem with learning to drive in New York is that there wasn't a window for mistakes. There was a chain reaction of obnoxious honks before Chuck got the car moving again. He didn't need to glance at Eric in the rear view, the laughter carried. "Shut up Eric," Chuck threw back as he reached a smooth travelling speed.

"Are you sure Chuck should be following that close?" Eric studied the distance between their car and the one in front. He was sure it was less than a car length.

"Looks fine to me," Lewis decided while Eric doubted.

"Should he even be learning in the city?"

"He's going to need to drive in the city," Lewis pointed out.

"I went way out into the suburbs to learn."

"I learned how to drive in downtown Montreal," Lewis countered and then turned her eyes back to the dash. She prompted her student to shift. When she had him change lanes directly in front of a Semi trailer truck Eric doubted her further.

"Maybe you should get some professional lessons," Eric suggested. They'd helped him. "Bart wouldn't take me out in his car until I'd finished my Young Drivers course."

"My dad took you out?" Chuck stared at his brother in the rear view, lost sight of the road entirely.

"Yeah, on a few weekends. He's actually a very good driver, taught me a lot."

"He taught you?"

"Chuck!" Lewis tried to interrupt the conversation. "Road!" It didn't work, Chuck was too astonished by the idea of Bart Bass teaching anyone to drive, nevermind the very natural jealousy that crept up with the fact that it wasn't him. "Chuck!" She slapped his arm and she made a grab for the wheel. She tried to veer the entire vehicle to the side. It wasn't any use. By the time Chuck had his eyes on the road there was no longer a road to see, just an explosion of white as the air bags deployed.

Chuck coughed twice when the bag dropped down, wiped the fine white dust from his face and stared at the hood of his dad's car. Despite the crawling speed of rush hour traffic the front left side was bent inward. A film of steam filled the air and widened Chuck's eyes. He looked to the right and saw that Lewis was fine, looked to the back and saw his brother was fine. Then he opened his door and stepped out. The others followed.

If the damage looked bad from the inside then it was worse from the outside. Chuck had collided with a Honda Civic. The tiny red car had left a trail of bloodlike smudges on what was left of Bart's bumper. The Civic's trunk was dented in, gold transferring in exchange for the red. The other driver threw his door open, starting stringing curses at Chuck before his foot hit the pavement.

Chuck stared at his companions, ran both hands through his hair and said what they were all thinking. "Oh fuck!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate ran a finger along the white roses in his hands. They were bundled between blue forget-me-nots, wrapped with an enormous bow. He checked his appearance in the mirror, pushed his bangs back and forth until they hung straight. His pants were perfectly pressed this time, casual polo exchanged for a proper dress shirt and tie. Nate knew he was handsome, he'd known it since before he could walk. He was the baby that everyone loved at first sight and the little boy that everyone stared at longest. He was the teen that all the freshman girls shrieked over but he wasn't looking to court a freshman. He was looking to reclaim something he should have never lost. So he stared harder into the mirror because she demanded perfection. He retied his tie until it hung perfectly straight, checked his shoes for scuffs and finally smiled. This would end the way he wanted. Blair might have cared for Chuck but Nate knew that they had history too and, deep down, Blair had never been able to refuse him.

"Hot date?" The Captain appeared in the mirror behind him. Nate looked at his father and then checked his eyes again, made sure they weren't bloodshot.

"I'm going to see Blair," Nate offered when his father didn't leave.

"Blair?" The older man's entire face lit up. Nate stared back in disbelief. "You're seeing Blair again?"

"I'm going to ask her," Nate admitted.

"That's wonderful!" The Captain slapped him on the back. It made Nate smile. His father hadn't associated the word wonderful with him in many months. Not since he found out that Nate had accepted the scholarship to UCLA along with admission to Dartmouth. Since then it'd been all fierce glowers and disapproval. "She's such an excellent girl."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck wiped his hands along his father's expensive suede sofa. He wasn't in the office, yet, but the voices were enough to unnerve him. Lewis had gone first, to act as intermediary and based on how loud his father was shouting, he needed one.

"What possessed you to take my son on the road at 4pm?" Bart yelled. He grabbed a pen from his desk and threw it down again, leaned against the side and then stood up again. "With his brother in the car?"

"Don't yell at me," Lewis said evenly.

"I'm not yelling," Bart yelled right back.

"Really?"

"This is not about that!"

"You need to calm down."

"Just get Charles for me."

"No."

"I'll get him then," Bart made a line for the door.

"I don't think so," Lewis stood against the pane of wood as Bart's hand went for the knob. "Not until you calm down first," She stared right at him as she said it.

"Let me open the door," Bart tried to pull the handle but for such a light woman she was tall enough to block it.

"_No_," Lewis pressed her back tighter to the door. "Because if I do than you are going to screw up all your progress with one ill-timed screaming fit."

"I'm calm," Bart swore but the red that crawled up both sides of his neck spoke otherwise.

"No you're not."

Bart stared back at the green eyed woman and decided that she was what was infuriating him. How dare she lean against _his_ door like she owned it? How dare she tell _him_ what to do at all? How dare she look so beautiful doing it, with a stunning flush to her cheeks and a kind of sparkle to her enormous eyes? What? Which of those thoughts did not belong with the others? "I know what I'm doing."

"You mean the yelling fits. How _have_ those been working for you so far?"

Bart started for a comeback but it died. He bit his cheek instead. She had a damned point and for some reason that annoyed him further.

"Go do something else first," Lewis suggested. Her smile broke through now that she could see she was winning. She put a hand to Bart's cheek. "What could you do to calm down?" She asked.

_Sex._ The thought blindsided Bart. When he noticed how pleasingly Lewis' chest was still heaving, Bart decided that against the door would work well. Or maybe buried deep on top of his desk? _Whoa_! _What the hell was that?_ Bart turned away as he realized exactly where his thoughts had detoured to. _What was wrong with him?_ I mean she was _that_ good looking and it's not like he hadn't been following her legs for weeks already but… "I'll take a shower," Bart decided. When Lewis sighed happily in return, plump lips forming a natural O, Bart decided it'd better be a cold one.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

As he watched her descent the spiral stairs of the Waldorf Penthouse, Nate decided that Blair floated rather than walked. She soared downward, white summer dress gliding in time to her feet, curls bouncing with every step downward. Nate didn't need to remember to smile, he was grinning steadily from her first appearance.

"Nate?" She slowed as she reached the landing, eyes narrowing when she saw what was in his hands.

Nate didn't say anything at first; he simply held the flowers out in offering. He figured it was enough.

"What are these flowers for?" Blair said cautiously. She'd gotten two others since the first, orange daisies for a warm day and white and pink freesia for no reason at all.

"I lied," Nate began. "When I said I didn't wanted to go to prom with you just because I wasn't seeing anyone else. I want to go with you because I _don't want_ to see anyone else."

Blair blinked once while the thought cleared.

"I know I don't deserve another chance, that I screwed up the last two royally but I'm hoping you'll forgive me because I want it anyway."

Blair very nearly laughed at the twisted irony of it all.

"What do you think?"

What did she think? That it was the right speech delivered by the wrong boy. "I think I meant what I said before," Blair offered firmly. "That we'll have a great time at prom _as friends."_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I'm sorry," Chuck offered first when his father returned. He sat on the chair before his father asked him to, took a deep breath and waited for the moment of fury.

"What you were was irresponsible," Bart corrected and Chuck felt that first spasm of doubt. It didn't crawl like it usually did. Maybe that was because his father smelled like baby powder, or maybe it was because his father wasn't red in the face and his voice was even. It was easier to be calm when his father set the practice. "You're very lucky that something more serious didn't happen. You could have hurt yourself; you could have hurt Lewis or Eric, or a pedestrian or another driver. You are very lucky that you only ruined a sixty thousand dollar car."

"I'll fix it," Chuck promised.

"No. What you'll do is buy me another car."

"Done."

"And you'll take real driving lessons from a qualified instructor."

"Done."

Bart waved him out then but Chuck stayed sitting. That was it? He'd expected a thirty minute lecture on responsibility, _at the very least._ It took him a couple additional moments before he took to his feet and started out.

"Oh, and Charles," Bart stopped his son at the door. "Once you're done those lessons maybe I could help you to practice."

"You?"

"It's better that way," Bart assured him. "Lewis does a lot of things well but she's a god awful driver."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate threw off his tie when he got home, unbuttoned the blue shirt in favour of a rumpled red polo. _It wasn't supposed to go like that _Nate reasoned as he sat on the bed. It's not like he expected Blair to fly into his arms or something. He had predicted a kind of tension, knew he'd have to work at it but he didn't expect what had happened. Blair was entirely blank and unmoved in her refusal. It's like she didn't care for him at all anymore. And that was scary because part of Blair's allure was the fact that she had always loved him. It didn't matter what he did, what anniversaries he had forgotten or words he'd gotten wrong, Blair had always forgiven him. Was it wrong to think this time would be no different? That once he showed his heart Blair's would warm again as it always had? Maybe Chuck was right to laugh. Maybe he'd messed up even more than he thought. When he truly looked back, Nate couldn't blame either of them for the doubts. He'd been wishy-washy the entire way through. He'd have to prove he'd changed, show that he was older, wiser and _truly_ in love. He opened his phone. He was going to start with an apology.

"Listen Chuck," Nate said once his best friend answered. "I was out of line yesterday. You have every right to not believe me." The only response that got was a mumbled okay. "Do you want to come over?" Nate suggested. "We could watch a movie."

"Can't do," Chuck answered back. "I'm on my way out to Brooklyn."

"For?"

"I need to talk to Eric about something."

"Can't you come here and talk to me?"

The vacant silence that followed that question was more than humbling, it was kind of insulting. It brought with it a sickening sense of deja vu. Nate had been at this place before. That time it'd ended with the reassurance that Chuck had one brother and one best friend. Nate wondered what Chuck would have left when the divorce was finalized.

"I'll call you later," Chuck finally offered and cut the call.

Nate watched the screen on his phone flash to nothing and wondered when the world had flipped upside down. When did his best friend start preferring the company of sixteen year olds? When had Blair built up immunity to his charms?

And why did it feel like he was the one being left behind?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"My mother came to see you?" Eric was dumbfounded. It was more astonishing than the story related to Bart, more unbelievable than the promise Lily had finally offered. Her method of delivery trumped everything else. If she was willing to approach Chuck, well that proved how much she truly wanted him to come home. It was very nearly brilliant.

"It's been a week of surprises," Chuck smirked with a hand over the back of Damien's couch. It had been; some more pleasant than others.

"She really said she'd give up on Rufus?"

"She said you could have what you wanted." Chuck promised and Eric contemplated. "So are you going to move home?"

Eric bit his cheek as he thought. It was supposed to be a forgone conclusion. He had promised to return the moment his mother gave up on Humphrey. Of course, he didn't think she actually would but now that she had… "I'll move back on one condition," Eric swore as he looked up. "You have to go home too."

Chuck didn't have to consider long. He'd been discussing it all week with his younger brother. If it wasn't for Blair he wouldn't have considered at all. Perhaps he was a selfish boy but Chuck enjoyed having her to come home to, to pack his clothes and trade silly stories over dinner. Nate had robbed him of the simplicity, his little gifts sparking jealousy that, despite Blair's obvious disinterest, was still inching Chuck closer to acting stupid. He was either going to punch Nathaniel or confess everything to Blair. It was time for him to bow out. Besides, Lily was right. Chuck valued family before anything else and it was time to fix his.

Chuck put out his hand and the two boys shook on it.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair turned away the moment he said it, watched the commercial boats travel the length of the seashore, dart between the waves and the larger ships. They were stretched out on a grassy knoll, the remnants of an old dock littering the rocks beyond the cracked cement road. It was far enough from any hustle and bustle to be quiet by New York standards, just a steady roar of city noise rather than anything specific. It's why Chuck loved it here, the illusion of emptiness in the center of a city that had everything.

"My dad has been trying so hard," Chuck explained. "I feel I owe him this much."

"You don't owe him anything," Blair argued, spasm of disgust passing over her face.

"He's really changing Blair."

"For how long?"

"Hopefully forever," Chuck decided as he pulled one dandelion from the side.

"And what if it's only until you get back."

Chuck shrugged. "Then I'll move out again."

"I like having you at my house," Blair admitted. It made Chuck pull two more weeds and start weaving them together. He added another two as Blair finished the thought. "I like knowing where you are, that you're doing okay."

"I _am_ okay," Chuck promised, kept his eyes on the blooming yellow flowers.

"What if that changes?" Blair asked. "And I'm not there to see it."

"You'd know."

"I'm not sure?"

"If anyone would know," Chuck met her eyes at last. "It'd be _you_."

Blair's lips curled into the smallest of smiles. It was different from her others, the enormous smile that accompanied her laughter, or the half smile that tugged when she knew she shouldn't be smiling at all. This was the genuine smile, the one he loved best because it was the one that snuck up before she could think the better of it. Chuck offered his tiny bouquet of dandelions, wore that same smile with the same lack of realization.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Are you sure you want to move home?" Nate asked in disbelief. He looked to the rest of the grouping. They'd assembled the new Non-Judging Breakfast Club along with Damien and Dan to fill every seat in the Waldorf Penthouse.

"Yes," Chuck swore behind a sip of pop, tossed the remote to his brother to change the channel.

"I told him to stay," Blair pointed out as she slid beside him, passed a bowl of popcorn to the others. "But he is unmoved."

"She has a two year old," Nate reminded his friend. "It probably cries and whines all the time."

"Won't be that different from Serena then." Chuck said through a smirk.

Serena huffed and grabbed of handful of kernels to pop into her boyfriend's mouth. "Seriously Chuck. Don't you remember what he said to you last time? When…"

Chuck inclined his head to her boyfriend, raised both brows and dared her to put the fear to words. Three didn't give up. It was only when Blair dropped her hand to Chuck's thigh that Nate's voice dropped from the rest. Eric had been neutral from the start. He'd had more a firsthand view of Bart than the rest. Damien didn't know enough to offer an opinion either way. Dan was still trying to figure out what Serena and Blair were arguing without a contextual resource. After about fifteen minutes Chuck was done. His jaw went firm and his eyes narrowed. He was sick of arguing.

"You'll have to live with your former teacher," Serena pointed out. "Won't that be weird?"

"Perhaps I have a Graduate itch to scratch." He finally spat as he reached across Blair and grabbed a whole handful of popcorn. When he pulled back Blair's hand was off his thigh and Chuck realized exactly what he had said. It made him wince while the rest of the room shifted uncomfortably. They all knew the history after all.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck and Blair managed enough bags for the next few days. Chuck lugged the larger suitcase to the door; Blair with the lighter case slung over one shoulder. Their entrance wasn't announced like it might have once been. Chuck used his own key, unlocked the door like some middle class teen rather than the son of industrial royalty. It was fine by him. It suited better than hotels and valet parking. They made it three feet into the house before they heard it. The one sound that had never found its way into any Bass home, the one sound that ought not to have any place in their world. The teenagers froze on instinct, stared at one another in a cross between amusement and dread.

"Can I still reconsider?" Chuck asked.

"I'd wonder about you if you didn't," Blair returned his disbelief.

Then a particularly loud twang sounded and they both shuddered in unison. It was country music. Not even the stylish new country. This artist could give George Jones a run for his money, all guitar and twisted vocals.

"Should we?" Blair asked.

"I'll go first," Chuck suggested. He let the suitcase drop and inched towards the living room. He kicked his shoes off as he went, ducked his head around the last wall covertly. His earlier disgust was chased away by what he found. He might have been Chuck Bass but even his heart melted at the sight of son and mother wrapped in a tango for two, or one and a half in this case. Lewis was spinning her son in circles; his dark brown curls flying to and fro. Blair walked up behind, put a hand to Chuck's back and stared herself.

Lewis stopped the spin when she caught sight of her two visitors. "Charles, Blair," She greeted as she set Aidan down. He went right for his Play-do, smeared purple across the priceless coffee table.

Chuck intoned 'Lewis' to Blair's 'Ms. Smith.'

Lewis wasn't sure what to think until she noticed what was in Blair's hands. Chuck might have dropped his bags but Blair had kept the lightest of the suitcases in her hand. "Is that yours?" Lewis asked.

"It is. I thought maybe I could move home." Chuck admitted.

"Of course," Lewis shook her head eagerly. "Your father will be _so _happy." Lewis started shifting papers to find her cell phone. "I'll call him now."

"Why don't we surprise him?" Chuck suggested.

"Okay. He should be early today." Lewis informed them. "He's been busy working on a Southeast Asia proposal but he was going to take the time…" She was rambling.

"Sounds good," Chuck cut her off and they all fell into silence. It didn't last long before a loud twang broke it again. Lewis noticed the pair's matching shudder.

"Do you want me to put something else on?" Lewis grabbed at a stack of CDs. "How about Elvis?"

Chuck's eyes went a little larger at the thought. "I thought you were thirty, not sixty!"

Lewis could only shrug her shoulders as the slightest tone of pink crossed her cheeks. "I moved around a lot," She reminded Chuck. "Learned to appreciate lots of different things."

Chuck turned his glare on Blair who was trying to smoother laughter behind a hand.

"Besides, Elvis is the sexiest man to ever live," Lewis tossed nervously over her shoulder as she changed the disc. Then she corrected herself, put a finger to her hip and rephrased. "Before the fat years I mean."

That undid the youngest of the group. Blair's smothered laughter turned to a loud snort that carried further.

"Blair," Chuck gave a jab to her side. He was going to have to live here after all.

"Yeah Chuck," She whispered right back, eyebrow reaching to the ceiling. "Have fun okay," She leaned closer, let her lips tickle his cheek. "Tell me how that Mrs. Robinson fantasy turns out." Chuck responded by giving her a light shove. It didn't deter her. "I'm sure we can find you something in sequins and powder blue."

"Shut up Blair," He mouthed but she was on too much of a roll.

"Come to think of it, it's really not all that different from your usual selections."

"Blair," He hissed too loud. "Isn't it time for you to be going?"

"Are you leaving already?" Lewis looked disappointed. "Why don't you stay for lunch?"

"I'm good."

"Or better yet," Lewis threw out. "Come for dinner. Invite everybody; we could have a welcome home celebration."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N –reviews = motivation to keep writing ;)_

_Blair S. – The only psyche courses I've done in university were a couple adolescent ones and that's mandatory for teachers. I'll definitely take it as a compliment though ;)_

_BrittyKay – Chuck is inching closer to telling. :)_

_oc-journey – Eric is trying hard to help his big brother. Chuck is eventually going to read his mother's suicide letter (remember how Bart hid it in YCFYF?). That might help, or hinder…depends. What is Vanessa's movie about? Hmm, why would she want to invite Chuck and ask him not to bring anyone else…I'll give you a hint. This will be the only time Serena threatens someone else's life ;)_

_Hey – Blair is jealous because C isn't showing his feelings. She feels uncertain._

_Annablake – C was given Prozac for depression/anxiety. It's too bad that Misty was started on the same because if she was on something else it might not have bothered him so much. Chuck is already 18. He turned 18 at the beginning of YCFYF, remember his disastrous 18__th__ birthday thanks to Georgie and the stuff about his inheritance. In C's mind he's already showing signs because of everything he's done since. As for grad, I don't know if it's the same in the USA but in Canada (we have 'grad' not prom) our grad nights are all about drinking and partying. It's not what Chuck would want to be doing right now. _

_Sky Samuelle – Yeah, N is a douche bag and we're only at the tip of the iceberg for this story unfortunately. The end of this story (we're probably hitting the last ten posts, of course every time I say that it ends up closer to fifteen) besides CB is a lot about NC. Let's just hope N can grow up before it's too late._

_Up Next – Anyone up for dinner at the Basses? Blair decides she's not above using Nate for her own ends. We inch closer to May 8__th__._


	47. Chapter Nineteen Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Nineteen – Part One**

_May 1, 2009_

_The problem with changing is that sometimes the world around you doesn't change to fit your new parameters. I think the basis of my problem with my mom wasn't about boyfriends or husbands but the changing dynamic of us. I finally grew up, stopped being her docile and complacent little boy and she didn't know how to accept that._

_They say it's hard to make lasting change but they never explain why. It's usually because even if our priorities and desires shift our circle of friends and family don't shift with it. They still expect us to be the same, act the same, sound the same and after awhile it's easier to go back to fit in._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Blair made it only three steps into the Bass living room when she froze; the abruptness of the stop causing the rest to run right into her. Serena, Eric and Nate stood as riveted when they looked past. It was nothing like they expected. It was nothing they could have predicted. It looked like a moment from a Home and Garden magazine and this time not just for the perfect coordination. Bart was reclined on one of the sofas, Lewis sitting quite naturally beside him, newspaper folded over both their laps. Bart was reading something to her from the business section, explaining the parts that she didn't understand and he was doing it with his tiny black rimmed glasses on. Blair was pretty sure they were touching, whether it was his thigh to hers, or the shoulders maybe and they were smiling, both of them, with strangely matching dimples. And Chuck? He was sitting in front of the central coffee table, one leg tucked underneath him and the other stretched the length of the floor. Lewis' son was kneeling beside him, two pots of Play-Do and a collection of plastic instruments being traded back and forth. Chuck was concentrating intently on building something from a blob of pink, so much so that he smiled only briefly at his four closest friends and then added another ball to his growing masterpiece.

Blair didn't know whether to laugh or cue music for the Twilight Zone. In the end she used the only four words that fit. "Oh my fucking god!"

Eric brushed past her, made a beeline for the free space to the other side of his brother. They exchanged their greetings and Eric grabbed for the ball of dough on the table. "I wouldn't go for the purple," Chuck advised knowingly. "Aidan will share anything but the purple." Sure enough, the toddler had fixed Eric with a glare too firm for such a small child, tiny green eyes staring from beneath a head of brown curls. Chuck pulled a wicker basket from beneath the table. It was full of other colours. He offered it to Eric.

"That must have been difficult for you," Blair teased as she sat behind them, Nate and Serena choosing to flank either side.

"Kid has good taste," Chuck pointed out as he put the finishing touches on his creation.

"Pink works better for your project," Eric decided as he studied his brother's construction with a tilt of his head to one side. "Penis statues only work in skin tone."

"_Eric_!" Serena chastised immediately but it was too late. Everyone else was already looking at Chuck's formation, even Bart and Lewis had put the paper aside to join the others in a collective tilt to the right.

"Bass off!" Aidan called out as he grabbed the questionable object.

"It's a rocket," Chuck explained and the rest of the room tilted back to straight. "Aidan's obsessed with space, you should see his room."

That seemed to placate the rest. Bart tossed the paper on the side table while Lewis stood up to properly welcome their guests. It sparked some conversation while Eric blended the rest of the colours to create the whole solar system (he always upstaged his brother without even trying). Only Blair kept staring at Chuck's construction. Nate followed her eyes but for an entirely different reason. When he realized that Blair's eyes were fixated on Chuck, Nate's turned as intent.

Aidan raced his spaceship through the planets once and grew bored, put the pink batch of dough down and returned to smearing purple into the cracks of the antique table. Chuck took his artwork back and added a few lines. Blair's curious smile turned amused, she had to cover the laugh before it gave him away. She didn't say a thing until the servant announced that dinner was prepared and they all stood. Then she leaned into her ex and whispered. "It really was a penis wasn't it?"

"I was playing with _Play-do_," Chuck arched a brow as if that was explanation enough.

Somewhere between aperitifs and dessert Blair's reservations dissolved into what might have been optimism. She wasn't entirely convinced but she supposed she never would be when it came to Bart. Blair had been placed at the opposite end from the Bass family. Bart sat at the head of the table, Chuck sitting to his right and Lewis his left. Aidan was placed between his mother and Nate, Serena between Chuck and her. On Blair's other side was Eric. It was a bit of an awkward setting but it did give Blair a full view of the table and everything that was happening at it. Blair had only picked at all four courses, mostly because she couldn't pull her eyes away from the head of the table long enough to actually cut her meal. She was stunned by them all, but Bart in particular. He was talking and not with that stiff tone she'd grown used to. He was animated, trading stories with both his son and the woman on his left, laughing, actually laughing loud enough to be heard down the hall. She'd gone to the bathroom once just to check.

Blair was pretty sure she was going to get lines from her permanently stunned expression but she just couldn't turn away. "He's touching her again," Eric whispered to Blair. It was just a causal tap on the shoulder, a natural movement as Bart leaned over to say something privately. Blair still added a slash to their tally. "How many is that now?"

"Twenty-seven," Blair whispered once she'd counted the lines on the cocktail napkin.

"Three more and you owe me a new tripod," Eric reminded her.

Bart stared at Lewis and Blair guessed they'd hit that number before tea was set out. They might even reach Serena's once absurd suggestion of fifty. Then Bart laughed again, causing Blair to shake her head in disbelief again. It's not like she'd never seen this side of Bass Sr., she could remember it from her childhood years. It's just that the memory had been smothered by the connecting seven.

"So what do you think?" Serena nudged her on the arm, ran her eyes down the table.

_What did she think? _ That Lewis was either prophetic or Bart had got stuck in some time warp machine. And Chuck? He looked even handsomer with a perfectly contented smile plastered from one side of his face to the other. "She reminds me of Chuck's mother," Blair decided aloud. It was true. Lewis _did _remind Blair of Misty but she didn't know why. They didn't look anything alike. Misty had been waifish with tiny bone structure and a pale complexion. Lewis was taller, much stronger and tanner from her daily runs. Misty had been dark like Chuck was, with thick, long brown hair and almond shaded eyes. Even with her bangs and the edges of her bob coloured to a dark brown, Lewis was still mostly light with naturally platinum hair and enormous green eyes. They didn't even have the same mannerisms. Misty had had a wit that bordered on snark. Truthfully, it often crossed that line. Lewis was straightforward and to the point. Once you listed out the differences they didn't seem alike at all. Maybe it was just the change in Bart, the smiles and laughter that reflected more on the past than the woman drawing them out now.

"It's the perfume." Eric supplied.

"Hmm."

"Lewis wears the same perfume that Chuck's mother did." Eric said knowingly. He remembered it from the bottle that Georgina had smashed.

That truth made Blair's face screw in revulsion. "That's…"

"_Creepy_," Eric finished the thought.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was easy to forget it was a Monday. The sun shone brighter than it had in days, the birds sang along either side of the courtyard and Chuck had Blair's undivided attention. They'd beat the rest of their grouping to the picnic table at lunch. Blair had lain out four magazines and a fruit salad but Chuck had bettered that with a towering sandwich and freshly squeezed orange juice. There were other perks to living back home. "This one," Blair touched her ex's shoulder, pulled his attention to a towering upsweep of curls. She was still trying to decide whether to wear her chestnut hair up or down.

"I liked the one you showed me yesterday better. With the diamond clips."

"Really?"

"More neck," Chuck teased and she pushed him lightly away. He pulled back enough to lean against her momentarily. It made her smile. It almost felt like September again.

Blair closed that magazine for another, tossed one Chuck's way. He flipped casually while she flipped purposefully. "What would you wear," Blair asked as she showed the pages of menswear. "If you were going I mean."

Chuck stared at the line of models just briefly, enough that he didn't want to look again. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't care about missing prom. He may not have had the same dreams as Blair but he'd had his own. The problem was that the predominate idea involved throwing the best party and being the most intoxicated one at it. It was hardly the way to kick off a future. "I think this would look good on Nate," Chuck pointed out instead.

Blair eyed the black and blue tuxedo combination and nearly squealed. "It would be perfect on him! It's the same shade as his eyes." Chuck had to admit it was. It's why he'd pointed it out. "He's going to look so good," Blair decided. "The latest popularity polls have us at a dead heat with Serena and Dan." Blair had sent Kat and Is out with a clipboard to tally the seniors. The girls still had a purpose.

"I'd be shocked if you weren't."

"Apparently there's a significant body of seniors that hate Dan."

"They have good taste," Chuck said with a look upward.

Blair gave him another playful slap. "But…" She smiled mischievously, "everyone loves Nate."

"Are you pimping out the pretty boy for prom votes?"

"I'm not above using him for my own ends."

Chuck smirked as he shook his head, grabbed her magazine and flipped a few pages back. "But if Nate wears that then you won't be able to wear this." The picture was of an enormous gown. It started out in princess-style with elaborate gathering at the waist that slimmed into a jewel beaded corset. The bottom fanned out in every direction, miles of tulle and satin from the front to back. There were touches of black in the beading and through the bottom but the predominant colour was fire engine red.

"Don't you think that's a bit much," Blair arched a brow. "For prom."

"Is Blair Waldorf calling something _too much_?" Chuck echoed in surprise.

"The colour!"

"Is perfect."

"It's definitely bold."

"You should wear more red," Chuck smirked softly at her, stared into her eyes as he said the rest. "You always look _amazing_ in red." His voice dropped naturally at the words, ran smoother and more intent without an effort to make it that way. Blair smiled that smile again, the tiny one that grew until it decorated every inch of her perfect face.

"Blair looks amazing in _anything_," Nate's voice cut right through their moment. The blonde stared down at them both, saw the magazine and waited. Chuck didn't inch over as Nate expected him to. "Could I have a look at what Blair's picked out?" Nate finally prompted and Chuck remembered that it wasn't his prom or his date. So he forced himself to move down to let Nate sit between them.

Chuck forced bites of his gourmet sandwich while Blair repeated everything they'd discussed. He took too many sips of water while Nate laughed and touched her casually on the arm and hand as they shared the largest magazine. Blair had the necessary pages clipped, had already planned most of the evening even though it was over a month away. Blair laughed to match the blonde and Chuck decided that June 12th couldn't _come _and _go_ fast enough. Chuck calmed down once the rest of their friends joined. Serena and Dan were easily drawn into the prom conversation but Chuck didn't let it bother him. He spoke with Eric because the sophomore was two years too young to care. It worked. By the time the bell rang Chuck had all but extinguished his rebuilding jealousy. He was about to rise and follow the rest but Nate put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back down. The blonde waited a moment for the courtyard to clear, and then he explained the reason for the hand. "We need to talk about Blair."

"Can it wait until after Physics?" Chuck asked with a glance at his watch. "Mr. Pisor is a real jerk when you're late."

"Like Chuck Bass has ever cared about being on time." Nate broke through his excuse. Chuck bit his cheek but stayed sitting. "You need to stop what you're doing with Blair."

"I'm not doing anything with her."

"Other than flirting?"

"I already told you that things between Blair and I can't work out that way." Chuck swore.

"Does she know that?" Nate asked. It made Chuck rake a hand through his hair, take a deep breath and realize that Nate had a point. "You either want her or you don't."

_'It wasn't about that' _Chuck could have screamed it but he kept silent instead.

"If you do then fine but if you don't then what you're doing is wrong because _she cares about you_. It's wrong to play one of your _catch and release games_, to string her along when she could be happy with someone else."

Chuck took a deeper breath and considered his best friend's words. Obviously the boy had his own motives in saying them but he also had a theme that couldn't be denied. Chuck was being selfish but, the truth was, he wasn't ready to let her go.

"Just stop interfering." Nate asked at last.

"I'm not," Chuck finally spoke up. "I promised you that I would not get involved and I have kept my promise."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate tied the laces to his bowling shoes, neon flashing in one corner and older dance music attempting to set a mood. The place was nearly filled, preteen laughter mingling with curses from the league bowlers. He eyed the rest of his group with a disbelieving arch. Serena, Blair, Chuck and he had used to bowl, back when they too young to pass a fake id. Even then it'd been a last resort, when the stars aligned and all sets of parents were home. Nate wasn't sure why they were here now, except that Chuck had suggested it and they'd fallen in line. When would Chuck Bass suggest bowling as a night of fun? What had happened to his best friend? The boy was unrecognizable.

It wasn't just Chuck. Their circle of four kept expanding, first with Eric, then Damien had taken another spot, and now Dan was back in the troupe. It was getting positively cluttered. Nate grabbed a blue ball without a word, tossed it to the end beside the purple. The rest added other bits of the rainbow until they realized the numbers wouldn't fit. Nate, Serena, Dan, Blair, Chuck, Damien and Eric joining together had given them the awkward problem of seven. "We're going to need two lanes," Eric pointed it out first.

Nate studied the bodies and realized a few things: he didn't want to spend the evening with Humphrey, Blair was a given and he'd barely seen Chuck all week. He was about to suggest the Van der Woodsens head down the line with their others but Chuck spoke first. "Damien and Eric owe me a rematch from last week," He explained and grabbed the purple ball from the overfilled end.

"You want a rematch?" Damien and Eric offered in unison. "Do you enjoy being humiliated?" Damien finished.

"Eric and I are going to be partners," Chuck said with a slap to his brother's back.

"But he's better than me," Damien pointed out.

"Hopefully you'll enjoy the humiliation then," Chuck said as he walked three lanes down. It was the first free one. There was a gaggle of preteens and some older regulars between.

"I guess that leaves us," Dan said with the same resignation that Nate felt.

Nate sat as far away from Humphrey as he could. "Guess so."

Blair watched the three boys with a different kind of resignation. It was the first time she'd been passed over since Chuck had come back and it stung. "I better not break a nail," She said as she sat at the scoring table, punched the keys aggressively and started to organize their names.

Nate would have inched closer but Dan took the seat beside his target. Serena wouldn't sit, she hardly ever did. She just bounced from one side to the other, took turns sitting in her boyfriend's lap and running the short distance to her brother's lane. Even the blonde's enthusiasm couldn't crack the growing stalemate in lane twelve. Nate kicked his feet up on the free chair and stared. Dan wouldn't talk to him, Blair had developed a new obsession in keeping score and Serena was too much of a whirlwind to ground anything.

It was the eighth frame before Dan sat close enough for Nate to consider talking to him. Serena's energy had finally waved enough and she'd sat beside Nate, Dan naturally following to the next seat over. She'd bought a package of Nibs to reenergize and was feeding them to her boyfriend between throws. Nate watched them stare at one another to the exclusion of all others, saw how they touched and realized that Dan was here to stay. It motivated him to try the olive branch. When Serena finally stood, Nate spoke. "Listen. I'm sorry that I took your spot at Dartmouth."

"You think that's what this is about?" Dan stared at the blonde in disbelief.

"It isn't?"

"At least I can _understand_ why you did that," Dan explained. "And I got in anyway, but…the way you treated Vanessa?" Oh yeah! Nate remembered that _other_ thing. "_She's my best friend_!"

"I am really sorry about that." Nate said honestly.

"That's _great_," Dan threw back sarcastically. "But I'm not really the one you should be saying sorry to, am I?"

"I just thought, you know, with your dating Serena again…"

"Vanessa has already forgiven _her_," Dan stared at the blonde just a minute, and then went to grab his ball.

Nate sat back on his plastic chair and stared up at the screen. A little dancing man appeared as Dan made his spare. It was the only part of their row that was celebrating. Across the floor Chuck, Eric and Damien were managing much better. Their laughter was thunderous; the barbs were traded in cue, usually after Chuck's turn. His best friend had managed to round up a full twenty-seven points through seven frames. It didn't seem to bother him though.

Nate decided that the night was going entirely wrong. Chuck was supposed to be with him and Blair, Serena rounding out their four. Blair was supposed to pretend she didn't know how to hold the ball so that he had the excuse to lean in close. Chuck was supposed to hide scotch in his water bottle, throw only three frames and then hassle Serena to finish the rest so he could watch her bend over.

"Nate," Blair called through his memory. "It's your turn."

Nate threw three more before they all decided to quit. It was quarter to ten and after a quick calling of options the seven decided to move to the ice cream parlour down the street. Well, make that six because Chuck went for only his jacket and phone. "You're not coming?" Nate asked.

Chuck shifted uncomfortably, the context for it clear enough for all except Nate (and probably Dan but he was a little quicker on the draw). "I have plans," Chuck reminded his friend and then Nate remembered. It was a Tuesday night.

"Better than Chunky Monkey?" Nate asked anyway.

Chuck arched one brow. "Goodnight Nathaniel," he offered first and then continued along the other six before disappearing into the night.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was after eleven when Chuck returned home. He nearly stumbled over Andrew Tyler as the older man left. The private investigator apologized but Chuck's eyes still narrowed. It wasn't the jostling; it was the man's appearance at the townhouse. The man was a necessary evil for business at Bart's level and Chuck accepted him as such. Chuck accepted him as more when the situation called for it, used him at his own discretion but he knew that business was done during business hours. Chuck checked his watch again and guessed what the man was here for. It made him rush faster into the house and march straight for his father's study. Chuck saw the folder on the desk. It'd likely have been opened already except Bart was digging through his top drawer for another set of reading glasses. That was the danger in wearing them regularly; he now left them all over the house. "Is that what I think it is?" Chuck asked as he stared. Bart looked up; saw where Chuck's eyes were pushed the record to one side.

"It's not that…"

"I can read the _name_ from here."

"I'm just trying to help her out."

Chuck shook his head in disappointment. "I can guarantee you she doesn't want _that_ kind of help."

"It doesn't look like she's going to win her bid to stay," Bart explained. "I'm trying to find a way to fix that."

"If she sees that," Chuck pointed at the folder. "Then you won't need to."

"It's not like that." Bart tried to explain.

"She wouldn't be angry for two weeks and then forget it like Lily. If Lewis sees that then she'll hop on the first plane back to Iqualuit."

"In the North."

"Ask her why she was there," Chuck suggested as took out his lighter. He dropped it on top of the thick folder. "But get rid of this," He said firmly as he left.

Bart watched his son go, stared at the dossier and the lighter laying on top. He supposed Chuck had a point. Lily hadn't been impressed with his sleuthing but his intentions were entirely honourable this time. _For how long?_ The little nagging voice reminded him. His intentions always started out good but somewhere along the way they always shifted. He knew it wasn't right to research his closest friends and family. In fact, he was sure it was downright unhealthy but he couldn't help himself. He had this obsessive need to _know_.

That's why he almost opened the folder despite Chuck's warning. He didn't though. He looked at the open drawer instead, decided to toss the dossier with his son's lighter. He'd think about this first.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It took only twenty hours for Nate to show up on Vanessa's doorstep. It would have been nineteen but apparently she'd moved, downgraded from a two bedroom to a tiny flat four miles further down the tracks. Perhaps that's why she was surprised to see him. She'd purposely never told she'd moved, simply kept the cash payouts coming. In fact, she'd likely have slammed the door in his face except she had the last in her side drawer.

At least that's what she'd tell herself later.

Nate eyed the space once he'd been granted entrance. It was actually brighter than her last flat, with larger windows and lighter paint. If the bed wasn't in the middle of what passed for a living room then Nate could have convinced himself that she was moving up in the world. She was standing beside it now, tossing paperwork onto her orange comforter in order to find a purple envelope.

"Here," she pressed it into his hand before he could speak, waited impatiently for him to leave.

"I don't need this."

"Neither do I," Vanessa arched one of those intriguing eyes. "Not anymore."

"That's not why I came."

"Then why did you come?" Vanessa crossed her arms, prepared to be amazed but expecting the opposite.

"I came to apologize," Nate said with a look to the floor, eyes creeping up slowly, not wanting to see a repeat of the pain he'd sparked last year. "For cheating on you."

He never saw it in her eyes; they were turned away the moment he spoke. The only proof of her hurt was the clenching of her chin, the deep breath she needed before she could turn back. By the time her eyes were refocused on his he couldn't see it anymore, there was a different expression on her face, a sort of sardonic amusement. "Thank you Nate," She offered but there was no sincerity despite the smile. "It's just too bad that you needed Dan to tell you to do it."

"That doesn't mean it's not sincere," Nate fought right back. "I _am_ sorry."

Vanessa shook her head once because it was easier to not believe. She shouldn't believe it. It'd taken him less than two months to turn that affair into an actual relationship. Serena and Nate might not have lasted but she couldn't quite forgive the fact that they'd started in the middle of _them_. It hadn't made sense. Things had been going so well between Nate and her. In fact, they'd gone perfect from the first day. They never fought, always supported each other, had more chemistry than she'd ever felt before or since. It didn't make sense that Nate would sleep with Serena. She wanted to ask him why but she didn't dare.

"So are we good?" Nate broke her pause and Vanessa rolled her eyes.

She meant to tell him to go to hell but when the words formed they surprised even her. "Do you want some tea?"

It was worth it for his smile. "I can't," he admitted and she felt stupid all over again. "I have a tuxedo fitting." Why did she always feel so stupid with him? Nate bounced on his feet twice and then withdrew. He stopped just as the door was shutting behind him. "Maybe another time?" He suggested as it closed.

Vanessa rolled her eyes again. There was no way that was happening!

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair fortified herself for another bouquet of flowers as she neared the tailors. She was meeting Nate there, he was getting his first fitting for graduation and she wanted to know what he'd picked (or more specifically if he'd done as she'd asked). He probably had. Despite historical expectations, Nate had been surprising persistent in his pursuit of her. She'd rebuffed him strongly at first, refused to accept either the flowers or chocolates. After a few days, when Blair couldn't crack his determination, she chose to be flattered by it, even amused. After all, if he'd shown even half this consistency while they had been together then they'd never have fallen apart.

Nate was still standing outside, back turned to her. When she caught his reflection in the glass, her eyes fell naturally to his hands. They were empty. The disappointment she felt was entirely unexpected. She reasoned it away. All women liked gifts. "Are you ready?" Blair asked.

"Not quite yet," Nate admitted, hand going to his pocket. He pulled out a tiny black box and Blair got an unpleasantly nervous feeling as he held it out to her. Apparently he'd upgraded. "I got you something."

Blair hesitated a long while before she lifted the lid. When she saw what it was she nearly groaned in relief. It was a simple thing, a tiny platinum graduate's hat with the initials BW engraved on one corner.

"It's for your charm bracelet," Nate explained.

She ought to have said no and pushed it back but she didn't. She fondled the tiny loop instead, smiled at the idea of it. It really was thoughtful, which was wrong because Nate wasn't supposed to be thoughtful. In fact, he'd been everything but in the years they'd spent together.

"Do you like it?"

Truthfully she hated it. Not the charm, it was beautiful and just to her taste. It wasn't that, it was the comparisons it sparked. It was _Nate_ acting _this way_. His overwhelming pursuit, complete with gifts and daily visits couldn't help but compare to the others underwhelming nothing. Nate's obvious interest couldn't help but reflect on Chuck's total lack thereof.

"Do you like it?" Nate asked again, everything written so transparently across his face.

"It's lovely," Blair decided. It truly was. It's too bad she'd stopped wearing that charm bracelet nearly two years ago.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"So?" Damien walked out of the bedroom, put both hands up and did a spin. He was wearing the outfit he'd selected for his television appearance on May eighth. The chain mail shirt they'd chosen the week before had been paired with a pair of skinny black jeans and a thick leather wrist band. The Brit's dark brown hair had been styled partially back with the rest falling away in controlled disarray. It was controlled enough to emphasize the older boy's stunning green eyes and permanently angled smile. He had this awkwardly perfect persona that worked every single time.

"I didn't realize this was a dress rehearsal," Eric teased.

"I'm on camera in less than two days," Damien reminded his boyfriend with a doubtful look at his feet. "Do these shoes go with this outfit?" He asked as he flipped one of the black boots over.

Eric burst into laughter at the question.

"What?"

"Just not something I'd ever imagine you saying."

"Well do they?"

Eric laughed again. "Did you want me to call Serena or Blair to answer that one?"

"No," Damien waved the idea away. "I mean I'm sure they don't film right down to the floor anyway."

"Did you want to practice the questions?"

"Yeah, sure," Damien sat down with one final glance at his boots. He cracked. "Do you think we could send Blair a picture message?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The third time Blair yelled at the tailor Nate remembered the parts of Blair that were harder to live with. She'd brought a fabric sample from her prom gown, intent to match colour to his cummerbund. The discrepancy had turned her into scary Blair, the one who could rip into you without a second thought. Nate stared into the rows of mirrors and felt a wave of sympathy for the fitter. Then he felt a wave of relief for himself. Blair was never that way with him and sure enough, once the fitter had scurried off with the promise of a replacement, beautiful Blair returned to him.

"So what do you think?" Nate asked into the mirror, couldn't help but feel that sense of déjà vu. They'd had this moment before, a week before cotillion. Nate was banking a lot on prom ending the same way that night had. Except they weren't going to fall overboard again, they were going to sail smoothly onward.

"Did you want me to say _I'd almost forgotten how handsome you were_?" She proved she remembered the moment too.

"Would you like too?"

"You already know you're good looking," Blair teased. "And good looking combined with formal wear is naturally handsome."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Don't let it go to your head; we'd have to order a larger neck." Blair said derisively. She tried to keep her expression as sarcastic but it was hard with Nate's dimples reflected in four.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was waiting in the main room when Lewis got home. She was still wearing her IPOD; hair held by a band and shirt plastered to her frame with a line of sweat. The chill of the evening mixed with her skin to paint her arms in a reddish hue. She'd had to replace a morning run with an evening one, appointment with her lawyer taking precedence over normal life. She tossed the player to the side table, grabbed a towel from where she'd left it and wiped at her forehead. Bart hadn't realized that she actually ran _outside._ He'd assumed she practiced on a treadmill in the middle of one of the thousands of gyms that dotted the landscape. It made him uneasy. He'd have suggested some kind or protection but she'd probably take that as well as the offer of car service. "Good run?" He tried.

"Hardly," Lewis admitted as she tossed the black towel over one shoulder. "I need to cut fifteen minutes if I want to qualify for Boston again."

"Does that mean you're in a bad mood?" Bart asked. She could tell he wasn't really interested, or at least not feeling sympathetic. He had a smug look about him, like he'd just bankrupted some small corporation. She's not sure she liked that look.

"Just a resigned one." Lewis arched her brow.

"Would a ball invitation help?" Bart asked as he pulled two invitations from his pocket. The cursive print was in royal blue, invitation in a contrasting cream.

Lewis laughed and not in the giddy sort of way Bart was hoping for. It was more in an amused and slightly patronizing way. "No," She said definitively.

"It's one of Lily's fundraisers," Bart pointed out. "I could really use a date."

"I'm proud of you for keeping an amicable relationship with your ex wife," Lewis prefaced her next words "but our little agreement doesn't include providing escort service for evenings out."

"I thought you might say that," he continued, smugness never dying. "And I thought this might change your mind," Bart held the invitation out as he finished.

_**Park Avenue Against Domestic Abuse**_

_**Spring Gala**_

_**May 8, 2008**_

_**8 pm**_

_**Plaza Ballroom**_

"I'll buy a dress."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Brit's small apartment was dusted in shades of orange and red, providing a backdrop other than renter white. Eric and Damien had scoured the older boy's entire history by the time the sun dipped below the horizon. They'd discussed his politician father, his mother's regal roots (she was the youngest daughter of an Earl), his education, themes, ideas, and plans for the future. They'd considered everything they could and Eric had weaved his suggestions through the pauses, told his boyfriend what to emphasize, when to slow down, where to dismiss details and when to expand.

"Who was your greatest artistic influence?" Eric asked last. It was the easy question. Eric could list his favourite photographers without a single pause: Ansel Adams of course but also Edward Steichen and sometimes he veered more to Imogen Cunningham. He waited expectantly for Damien to do the same. He had already discussed his favourite artists, from a fascination with Renaissance painters to a love affair with the modernists and post modernists. Eric waited for him to select one and expand upon it but his boyfriend's face stayed troublingly blank. "Damien?"

"I couldn't say," He said at last. "Maybe Mr. Montgomery, my high school art teacher." Eric nodded his head, at a loss of how to turn that into cinematic genius. So he grabbed his jacket instead. It was already after eleven o'clock and he had school the next morning. "Are you going home already?"

"Already? If I stay any longer I'll be heading straight to St. Judes," he exaggerated.

"Would there be anything wrong with that?"

Eric supposed there wouldn't be. They'd already played house for a few weeks but that wasn't the point. The point was that Damien was leaving shortly, still hadn't even said I love you and, well, that was enough wasn't it? Eric's insecurities were starting to run through the middle of them. He hadn't expressed his thoughts, despite the fact that he preached openness to everyone else. It was always different with your own issues. "Is there anything wrong with me leaving?" He asked without a hard edge.

"Maybe I got used to having you here," Damien admitted as he closed the distance between them.

"Then I'm sure you'll get used to not having me here," Eric threw back with a smirk, layered his chequered jacket over a grey sweater.

"It's not like that," Damien started, touched his boyfriend on the hand and smiled upward. "I miss having you here with me. My bed feels cold without you to warm it up."

It was nearly romantic and Eric could feel something inside bubble and melt. He threw the lid back on it. After all, Damien had only a week left to his show and, according to their practice interview; his intent was still to return to Ruskin School of Drawing and Fine Art for the fall. "I'll buy you an electric blanket before I come over next," Eric promised with a kiss on the cheek.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_The clearest memory was always the colour blue. On the water you could see blue for miles, lightest blue by the shore that turned darker as they moved away, disappeared into black at the deepest points. There were islands, little bits of rocks that Nate always steered expertly around. He might not have been the brightest of men but give him an active occupation and he could perfectly master it. He was a fine captain with blonde bangs that blew with the breeze and a body that fit expertly into his sailing outfit. Sometimes when he wore that same light blue, or tan pants to match Blair would remember what he'd looked like on the ocean._

_That day had been special from the beginning. He'd started it with a dozen roses, followed that with a bottle of champagne and a picnic basket on deck. She hadn't eaten much despite the fact it held all her favourites. Mostly she'd just sipped champagne and tried to keep a hold on her stomach while the boat shifted naturally in the waves. Nate would ask her to shift a cable or rigging. She never got the right one. Serena was the one who didn't mind hanging half off the side to pull this or tie that. Chuck would jump only if it involved climbing. He'd once scaled the central pole to adjust a tangled sail. She usually kept to the deck, watched the land drift past and formed fantasies that ended just like that day. _

_That day there'd been no Chuck and no Serena, just two sixteen year olds sailing into the endless blue. Nate had lowered both sails after they were far enough out, had sat beside her on the planks of wood and wrapped one arm around her chilled form. She'd insisted on wearing a print dress, forgetting as she always did that summer days didn't extend four miles out into the ocean. Nate ran a finger down her goose bumped arm and rubbed twice. It didn't help. So he took off his sailing jacket and wrapped it around her, all her attempts at fashion swallowed beneath it._

_"You look beautiful," Nate offered and she smiled. It couldn't have been true, the light breeze had turned her perfectly coiled hair flat, and the salt in the air had long since dried her skin and chapped her lips. She accepted it anyway, ran her fingers through his and just smiled. The sun had started its descent before he kissed her. She sighed into him as she realized, Nathaniel Archibald had always had the figure of a leading man, but this was the moment that could play on a cinematic screen. It made him more desirable than any dimpled smile. It made her kiss him deeper and harder until their gasps outdid the slow roar of waves. She'd likely have lost it there, let him take her in that moment if they weren't five miles out to sea, in an open sailboat, surrounded by a crowd of other pleasure boats. By the time Nate brought her back home her head had cooled considerably, and all those little doubts and insecurities had returned to turn her answer to no._

Blair rubbed the tiny sailboat she'd been given as commemoration of that day, caressed the rising sail and arch before letting it fall to join the rest of the charms. She'd organized them into three groups, those given by Nate, Serena and Chuck. The sailboat was in Chuck's section. He'd given it to her the following day, "to mark the night she should'a given it up." Blair had almost thrown it at his head as he said those words, but it was the way he said it, the self-satisfied smirk that accompanied his words. She just knew he'd arranged everything. After all, let's be realistic: in life there are puppets and puppeteers, and Blair had always known where each of those two boys landed. So she'd snapped it on her wrist and threw back her own barb, something that started with caring too much about getting his best friend laid and ending with latent homosexual tendencies.

Chuck had given her a couple more on the same theme: a jewel encrusted mask and a cocktail dress. The were just three in a crowd of others: a champagne glass for her first hangover (nearly two years after the rest of them), a marijuana leaf to remind her of Nate (it wasn't even silver, just brandished steel, definitely too tacky to be worn but she'd done it anyway), a tiny Hindu goddess to mark his return from India (given six months after the fact). They were little tales in shades of platinum. Chuck's stories had all but overwhelmed the other two: Nate's was full of tiny hearts, little teddy bears and everything else generic, Serena's section had the best narratives of the three but was also the sparsest.

"I haven't seen you wear that in a couple years," Chuck's voice interrupted her thoughts. She fingered the rest as she looked up, smiled across the Bass dining room to meet her matching set of brown eyes. He'd gotten back late from soccer, she'd already started her homework, books and papers littering the oversized table. They'd chosen the Bass townhouse for their study date. Hmm, study date. That was the only _date_ they could discuss.

"Thought I'd try something old," She decided.

The insinuation made Chuck's heart stop for a second. He pushed past it, sat beside her and studied the bracelet. "I still can't believe you put the leaf on."

"That's why I did it," Blair said with the slightest smile tugging at her lips.

"I bought it from a ninety-nine cent store!"

"You realize you're the one admitting to shopping at one?"

Chuck smirked at the defeat, ran his finger along the platinum band, tickling the skin of her wrist as his fingertips moved across it. She could feel her pulse jump at the touch, heart racing forward as his fingers moved from the furthest side to the charm she held. It was a key, amazingly intricate in its detail. It was so tiny that it disappeared between his thumb and forefinger, returning only as he lifted them apart again.

"Do you remember when you gave that to me?" Blair asked. His playful smirk proved he did.

_He'd given it at fourteen, the night he'd moved out of the Waldorf Penthouse the first time. The presentation was different than the others. There had been no explanation or snide insinuations. He hadn't even used a box. He'd simply pressed it into her hand and then picked up his suitcase. She'd asked him what it meant before he left the doorway. He'd just glanced back, smirk permanently affixed to his boyish face. "I'll tell you later," He'd promised. _

"Are you going to tell me?" She asked as his thumb covered her fingertip.

When the smile spread she thought he would. He even opened his mouth but then his fingers left the key, let her fingers and progressed to the tiny hat beside it. "This is new," he pointed out instead.

"It is."

"Roman?" Chuck guessed.

"Nate," Blair watched his reaction as she said it. She caught the flinch before it disappeared. It made her relax. She needed to see that. In a week where he'd moved out, where he'd chosen a group of two boys over her, she needed a lot more. So she pushed for it. "He gave it to me at the tailor's yesterday."

Chuck nodded his head too slowly. It gave her motivation to continue. "How did that go?" Chuck asked obligatorily.

"Perfect," Blair lied. "Nate is going to look amazing," she pushed for the next flinch. "He's got all the princely charm and aura. He's an incredible dancer and he's been more than attentive," she rubbed that charm for good luck. "I'm really looking forward to prom," Blair provided the only important truth. She truly was. It might not have been the dream she'd crafted at the start of senior year, or quite the same as her dream of years before that but it was slowly turning into something special. After all, if there was anything Blair Waldorf was good at it was crafting new dreams out of remnants of the old, readjusting priorities and making compromises to preserve that illusive happily ever after.

"You should be…"

"You should see his tuxedo. The cummerbund is the exact shade of my prom dress."

"Red?" Chuck asked hopefully.

"Blue," Blair corrected him, "off the shoulder with lots of lace and a short train at the back."

"I'm sorry I won't get the chance to see it," Chuck admitted as he pulled his textbook. "You'll have to take lots of pictures."

Blair took a deep breath, covered her defeated eyes with a glance at her history notes. "I'm sure they'll be lots of pictures of the King and Queen. Everything is going to work out perfectly," she promised herself before playing the final hand. "I truly couldn't imagine going with anyone else," she lied for that final bob. The dropping of his Adam's apple that helped her cling to Serena's truth.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Blair isn't going to date N to make C jealous. I think that would undo most of B's character development though I'm sure she'd be tempted (and obviously she isn't above making a remark here and there to see if C's still cares). _

_Angie38 – Aww, a new reader! I'm glad you enjoy Bart because I enjoy writing him._

_CBEBIW trory12 – Would it help you if I say I'm a hardcore CB shipper (since like 1X2 which was the first episode I ever saw). As for E/D, there was a bit here and they have one major storyline to go through together starting with the next post :)_

_ggloverxx19 – Yeah, Nate is…hrmmm…an interesting character. Hopefully you'll have enjoyed the dinner too. At least B won't be jealous of L and she won't mind C living at home as much (she went there for a study date after all)._

_rhiwe – I can guarantee you that CB is all about the love :)_

_Blair S. – Blair has grown up a lot. If this was back in TH or even early YCFYF I could see her dating Nate just to get Chuck to act. She'd grown up a lot too. I also love it when Nate gets nothing. I'll be honest and say I've never liked his character all that much. He just comes across to me as selfish and narcissistic. I hope they help him to grow up a bit in S3._

_miazmija – May 8__th__ = gala, film and television (see below). Thanks for your review :)_

_oc-journey – I kind of hate Lily too. She'd not done doing her shoddiness yet either. Yeah, my Nate is pretty dumb or at least pretty self-centred. Chuck has told him more than once that he's not interested in B that way. N should see through it but I think he wants to believe it because that leaves things open for him. There's a couple more scenes of father-son bonding left before we're done. I think only E and B are the ones to really understand C and I think you'll see B eclipse E towards the end._

_hiddenletter – The note isn't coming for a bit yet, it's literally within the last couple posts but it'll be a bang :)_

_Sky Samuelle – I'm glad you're enjoy N's downfall because I'm actually enjoying writing it. He's had it really easy on GG (aside from the situation with his father which wasn't his fault) because he's made bad decisions/shoddy decisions and never had to really feel the consequences of them. I'm ready for the writers to mature him in S3._

_BrittyKay247 – Well prom isn't until June 12__th__ in this story (which makes it way too late for RL but my timeline got messed up somewhere). I've committed to writing an entire chapter centred on it. Who will be there? Who will they be with? You'll have to wait to find out._

_Up Next – May 8__th __ is a busy day – Damien goes before the video cameras, Chuck, Nate, Serena, Dan and Blair attend the screening of Vanessa's film and Lily throws herself a Gala._


	48. Chapter Nineteen Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Nineteen – Part Two**

"What are you wearing?" Blair asked the moment she caught Chuck in the kitchen. He was downing a cup of coffee at breakneck speed, rich red suit and black collar setting a fashion statement closer to the masked ball than a night at the theatre.

"What does one wear to these things?" Chuck asked with a look down at his clothes. "Besides," he smirked. "You're not the only one who looks amazing in red!"

Blair had to laugh at that. "So the wannabe Cannes starts in forty," She pointed out.

"And we'll leave in ten." Chuck said with a flick of his wrist towards the stairs, at his father who was scrambling down them two steps at a time. He was dressed as muted as his son was bright, thick black tuxedo cut layered over the customary white shirt and black tie. "Father," Chuck said. He looked at his father's black clothes and shook disappointedly.

"Charles," His father stared at the bright red and returned the shake. Bart grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a few sips.

"Looking good Mr. Bass," Blair threw out, garnering her a bemused glance from Chuck.

"_He gets the compliment_?" He whispered once his dad had given his thanks.

"_Jealous_?" Blair teased right back.

Chuck considered it as he poured another cup of coffee, leaned against the counter and decided to go another way. "Don't you have flowers or something?" Chuck prompted his dad.

"What?" Bart shook his head. "No. We're going as friends."

"Then you won't need these?" Chuck grabbed the bouquet of daisies off the side table. At least one of them was planning ahead.

Bart was about to comment but then he heard his name from the top of the stairs. Bart's eyes followed it but Chuck and Blair's stayed fixed to his father. He caught the vision she set as she stepped down, they caught his reaction to it. Lewis had pinned her dark bangs beneath the rest, set her platinum bob to rollers, leaving her with a head of feminine curls. They bounced against her face, done up with all the make up she'd mostly stopped wearing again. Her skin was flawless, green eyes enormous with the addition of thick liner, and lips even fuller with the benefit of a rich red gloss. In the place of a ball gown she wore something that resembled vintage flapper style, short black dress with dangling balls of silver. It showed off the muscles of her legs as she walked.

Blair and Chuck shared once glance over Bart's reaction. They couldn't have shared more without laughing at Bass Sr. He was struck speechless. I mean she was beautiful in general but in that… Bart grabbed the flowers from his son's outstretched hand, met his date at the bottom of the stairs while Blair and Chuck did their best to control themselves. "You do realize they're about to launch that on all of New York," Blair said once the older couple had left. Chuck just smirked, found it hard to turn his lips to straight to drink the last few sips of coffee. "So are you ready?" Blair asked.

"I've drank a pot of coffee," He winked. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The walls of the waiting room were blinding white. It could have looked like the rooms of a doctor's clinic except for the mood music, abundance of flowers and mirrors. Damien was staring into one, checking that his hair was just right. He was beginning to feel like a narcissist, which was odd because he usually didn't care about any of that. "I think there's a hair to the right that's two millimetres off plan," Eric teased.

Damien actually tilted a second before recovering himself. "Ha ha," He threw out sarcastically before abandoning the mirror in favour of a thick white couch in the middle of the room. He checked his watch again. There was less than forty minutes to his interview. The realization made him thump his heavy boots on the carpeting.

"Take a few deep breaths," Eric suggested.

"Not working," Damien said after a huff or two.

"How about music?" Eric offered his IPOD.

"I know what would calm me down," He said with an inviting tilt to his lips.

"And certainly mess up the rest your hair." Eric reminded his boyfriend.

"The rest?" Damien asked with faltered confidence. He shot back to the mirror. Eric managed to hold back the laughter until Damien turned his head fully to the right, tried to see the back of his own head in the mirror. Then he laughed until his sides hurt. "Eric!" His boyfriend yelled once he realized he'd been played. It just made the younger boy laugh harder. "I'm never going to forgive you," Damien said as he took to the central sofa again.

"Even if I brought a present?" Eric said smugly, pulled the large bag from where he'd hidden it behind a vase.

"Present?" Damien's peeved expression turned softer immediately. Eric pressed the square box forward. It was covered in red paper and a gold bow. Damien made quick work of both, spied the shoe box below and laughed. It was a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes, nearly but not quite runners, They had thick black sides cut with the brown LV logo, and a single white stripe down the middle. "These are amazing," Damien decided as he tossed his boots off. He pulled the new shoes on, admired them for a whole minute before the frown returned, nerves still getting the better of him. "It's still not enough."

Eric laughed and stuffed his hands into his pocket. "How long before air?" He said with a single bounce, innocent expression never leaving his boyish face.

"Thirty-five minutes," Damien returned the never quite angelic look.

"Does the door lock?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa waved both hands to cool her face; it was burning hot to match the rest of her. She was sure there was an unattractive sheen of sweat spreading from her neckline to the undersides of her arm pits. She walked to the other side of the theatre again, fast enough to create a breeze and twirl the bottom of her red and black African print skirt. It didn't help. She was still burning up. She could feel the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stick unpleasantly, the chunky crystal beaded necklace hang a little too heavy over her blue tank and she knew her eyeliner was bleeding into the tiny crease at the corner of her eyes. It wasn't that hot, she was just that anxious. There was a lot riding on this moment, on _Chuck Bass_ of all people. And it was own stupidity that had forced her here. Who in their right mind crafted a short fiction based loosely, okay perhaps not loosely, more like _exactly_ on hislife. She fanned her face again, nearly ran across the carpeting the second time. One of her mentors stopped her on the third circuit. He was a graduate student in the MFA program, a film student with long brown hair and curious blue eyes who had already produced four successful shorts. The school had assigned him to assist on her project. He'd helped her set her scenes and taught her the technicalities of working with something other than a handheld camera. That night he was playing the part of usher. "Nervous?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Vanessa admitted.

"Everyone is the first time," Adam reassured her with a comforting squeeze of her arm.

_If only it was that!_ Though it kind of was a first time; the first time she'd have the full wrath of Chuck Bass aimed entirely her way. She hoped that glimpse of humanity she'd caught several months ago would help to keep her dreams alive. She hoped he'd see her film for what it was: a sympathetic rendering of the worst months of his life.

Oh god! Who was she kidding? Why was she even worrying about losing her scholarship? She ought to be worried about Chuck hiring a hit man.

"Vanessa," The voice tore out her last chance to calm down. She turned towards Chuck and smiled as largely as she could. He'd pushed the heavy doors open, red suit with black undershirt painting him the devil he had the capacity to be. It kind of fit that moment.

"Chu…" The words died when the next guest walked through. Vanessa's eye grew a little as Serena joined Chuck, doubled when Dan followed, rounded to saucers when Nate formed a quartet and turned fully panicked when Blair finished the grouping off. She stared a long time and then finally croaked. "You brought all of your friends?"

"And one of yours," Dan couldn't help but add.

"Hi Dan," Vanessa said weakly.

"I thought your show opened tomorrow."

"Technically. Tonight is friends and family night."

"And which one do I qualify as?" Chuck said smugly, smirk on his face from entrance.

"Which one don't I qualify as?" Dan countered.

It was one of those moments when the fates conspired until you wish the ground could open up and swallow you whole. At least those fates provided a diversion in the form of her usher. "Vanessa?" Adam questioned. "I thought your family was staying in Vermont."

"They are," She smiled.

"We're her friends," Chuck smirked wider. "_Apparently_."

"There isn't room for another four in the booth," The usher pointed out.

"Is there a front row in this place?" Serena asked as she looked left and right.

"Don't you prefer the back?" Chuck offered, receiving a slap to the stomach for his efforts.

"We could seat the six of you somewhere in row five," The usher decided with a quick look at his list.

"Last minute and we're in the fifth row," Blair arched a brow. "I can tell this'll be a seat filler."

"I'll stay in the booth," Vanessa decided with a look at the other brunette.

"That's settled then," Nate threw out before the awkwardness spiralled anymore out of control. He put a hand possessively to Blair's back and tried to guide her down the stairs. The rest of their grouping started to follow.

"Chuck is going upstairs with me," Vanessa said firmly. It was time to divide and conquer.

"I am?" Chuck smirked wider. He didn't know whether to be flattered or amused. "And what exactly are we going to do there?" Blair moved reflexively at the two but Serena stepped in front before her best friend could make it a step.

"It's the production booth," Vanessa rolled her eyes. "And you're my guest," She said as she grabbed him by the arm.

Chuck gave one shrug of his shoulders before following dutifully along.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily walked from one side of the ballroom to another, greeted her guests as warmly as she could. The room was dressed in blue and white and she'd picked a cocktail dress to match. The light blue didn't just match the dressing; it matched her eyes and the jade drops that decorated each ear. Another donor smiled and she tried to smile back. She felt forlorn. She'd gotten her son back but at what cost? She'd lost a lot in the trade off.

Lily caught him standing by the punch bowl, thick dark hair hanging over a rented tuxedo. At first she assumed her thoughts had conjured up the image, but then she remember he'd bought his ticket nearly a month before, when things had been headed in the right direction. Lily could feel her entire body straighten, knew her feet would move that way whether she directed them or not. Rufus caught sight of her when she was two steps shy. He took a deep sip of the red liquid to avoid her eyes. He would have made small talk to evade but who did he know at these functions? It was definitely a mistake. Lily would see him and know why he was here. "Rufus," Lily walked right to him.

"Lily."

"Have you come to dance with me?" She teased.

"I think that would violate your little agreement."

"I promised to not marry you," Lily corrected. "And not bring you into the house. There was no clause about dancing."

"As long as we're not dancing at your house?" Rufus tried the barb. It didn't come off right.

"We're free to dance here," Lily pointed out.

"That's nice." Rufus decided and turned away.

Lily tried to turn with him. "Are you going to pretend you're here for the appetizers and free champagne?"

"I'm quite enjoying these little shrimp things," Rufus countered.

"I know we haven't talked."

"You're right, we haven't."

"So dance with me and we can."

Rufus hesitated a good while longer, consumed three more shrimp cakes before he put the hand out. "Only because you look good in blue."

Perhaps it was a mistake to mix dancing with important conversations. The moment Rufus' hand was on her back; Lily lost the desire to talk about anything. She just wanted to lean her head on his chest but she couldn't do that without the talking part.

"Did you speak with Eric?"

"I did," Lily admitted. "He'd quite adamant."

"So explain to me what that means because dancing isn't helping to make it clear."

"Eric is sixteen years old," Lily pointed out. "He'll be at Cambridge in two years."

"You want me to wait until then?" Rufus asked.

"Yes," Lily started then realized how selfish that sounded. "I mean no."

"I would wait for you," Rufus explained. "But would you wait for me?"

"How can you even ask that?"

"Well, two years is a long time, you might want to fit marriage number five in the middle."

"That was uncalled for."

"Is it really?"

"I love you!" Lily reminded her former lover. "Why would I marry someone else?"

"Like Bart?"

"That was different. You were trying to work things out with Alison."

"What makes us different?" Rufus asked. "Because that's the fundamental problem."

"We are different," Lily promised.

"Really?"

"I'll know we are," Lily started. "When I was twenty years old I went looking for you because I knew then that you were the one I was meant to be with. I would have given up my trust then and there but when I found you, you were already engaged to Alison."

"You never came to see me…"

"You were already engaged and so very happy about it. So I left you two alone without even a visit. That's why I know it's different with you because I'd never wanted to do that for anyone before, and I've never wanted to do it since."

Perhaps it wasn't the most romantic or even sensitive explanation but it was at least honest. Rufus shook his head and expected for the first time in weeks that they might just work everything out. When her head settled into him it felt comfortable again. There was a long way to go but they'd started something right. So they danced another song, kept bundled together under the twinkling lights of the central globe and stayed free of the reality that would interfere again at the end of the night. They were still on the dance floor when the murmurs started but they ignored them. People always murmured about the couple that started in an affair. Except they weren't being talked about.

Lily didn't realize it until they turned halfway across the dance floor. Then she caught sight of the couple that was generating the buzz and stopped in shock. There in the center of the dance floor was her former husband (well technically still her husband for another week or two). He was laughing with Serena's former teacher, his sterner face gravitating to inches of hers. Except it wasn't stern anymore. Lewis was laughing and Bart was laughing in return, force of their mutual chuckles pressing her lips to his shoulder and his to her hair. "Wow," Rufus said it first, studied Lily for her reaction.

It took her a moment but then she smiled fully through, some of her guilt mercifully dissipating to nothing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

As the victorious one, Vanessa's movie was staged last. The group of four had to sit through three other finalists with no greater nourishment than the bag of Skittles that Serena had concealed in her clutch (it wasn't that kind of theatre). She divided them up by colour: blue for Nate, red for Blair, orange for Dan and purple for herself. When they realized the third film was about a stray cat, from the perspective of the stray cat a scuffle had nearly broken out over the remaining yellow. Blair handed over the majority of her red before Dan and Nate wrestled to the floor. She wasn't interested in eating anyway, or what passed for artistic entertainment. She wasn't even looking at the screen. Her eyes were studying the producer's booth intently. It was just bright enough from the backlighting to catch the expressions of Chuck and Vanessa as they turned back and forth in conversation.

"It's Vanessa's film," Serena yanked her back to the screen as the text flashed; Vanessa Abrams spelled out in looping script.

"About time," She said loudly enough to garner a snicker from Nate.

Blair crossed one leg over the other as the title sequence started, laid one hand across her best friend's casually. It took only five minutes for that that informal overlapping to become a vice, for her fingers to wrap through Serena's enough to pain them both. It took only five minutes for Blair to know exactly what Vanessa had done. Serena knew it too. Vanessa had been smart in her casting; she'd replaced Chuck with a sandy haired boy more like Nate, turned Bart into a younger but more portly father and transformed Georgina into a short Asian. It didn't change the context.

Vanessa had put Chuck's life into film; most specifically she had brought to life exactly what he had done to his father when he returned from India. How he'd conspired with Georgina to convince Bart that he was suicidal like his mother, played on his father's feelings for months before finally admitting the truth. Vanessa had put to screen both the depth of Chuck's anger, and the form of his revenge for his father's infidelity. She hadn't glossed or underplayed its depth. She'd drafted it scene by scene, moment by moment from ruthless beginning to harsh ending. She'd played it to its full twisted, vindictive and spiteful glory.

Blair made it thirteen minutes before she tried to stand up. Serena pulled her back down. The blonde shook her head disapprovingly. "Don't make a scene."

"Bitch deserves more than a scene," Blair whispered with another look upward. Chuck was still beside the brunette. She was trying to talk to him but he wasn't talking back. He was staring straight at the screen.

"We'll deal with her."

Blair gave an abrupt shake of her head, tried to control her rising fury enough to concentrate on something.

"We'll deal with her," Serena promised again.

Blair was more worried about how they would deal with Chuck. She kept staring up, the light and dark of the booth emphasizing just how tightly his chin was clenched.

"Are you alright Blair?" Nate asked with a touch to her arm. She pushed it away, momentary distraction turning her face away. When she focussed back Chuck's eyes were closed. She understood why once she heard the words. It was the apology and intertwined tears that Chuck had once, as a wounded twelve year old, explained to her in detail. The ending was written to match history. Blair didn't need to look at the screen for her own tears to start, the reflection was enough.

"It's over," Nate whispered again and Blair turned long enough to see the rolling credits. When she looked back Chuck had already disappeared.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I think you should wear it like this," Eric murmured as he ran his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, slicked every single strand straight back.

"Because Grease is making comeback?"

"How about this?" Eric ran his fingers again, reworked the thick brown hair to a sort of Mohawk.

"How about I do yours?" Damien teased and grabbed his bottle of gel.

"My hair is so beautiful it doesn't need gel."

"We'll see about that," Damien said as he filled a hand full.

"I think you'd better fix your hair," Eric said with a glance at the clock.

Damien gave a shake of his head. It refigured the hair close enough to the original masterpiece he'd crafted over an hour ago. "Done," He decided and jumped up. Eric swung back just enough to get a face full of blue gel. He sputtered once and grabbed one of the thick hand towels. "I didn't mean your nose hairs," Damien teased once it was wiped clear.

"Like I said," Eric gave a flip to his naturally straight locks. "I'm a natural beauty."

"We'll see about that," Damien said as he filled his hand again. He was faster this time, used his arms to wrap around his boyfriend, legs to halt an escape to either side. Eric put his hands up but it was too late. His bangs were covered before he could deflect it.

"Great," Eric stood up, marched back to the mirror and stared in. He tried to remove the gel but only succeeded in spreading it further.

"Who's the narcissist now?" Damien dropped back into the main chair.

"Still you," Eric teased and tried to recover his style.

"Let me do it," Damien suggested. He didn't replace Eric's usual style but after a few flips he had something manageable. Eric reciprocated by fixing Damien's hair to the proper design. They were just finishing up when they heard the knock, and the rattle of a handle.

"Did you forget to unlock the door?" Damien asked. It garnered a blush from Eric. The two boys unlocked it together, met the production assistant who gave Damien a five minute warning and told Eric he needed to head to his seat within three. Eric started but a beep from the Brit's phone delayed him. "Damien?" Eric asked.

"It's my dad," Damien explained. "They were supposed to call me an hour ago. My family always gets the time zones wrong." He related with a smile. Would you wait for me?" When Eric nodded Damien stepped back into the waiting room.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was the first one out the doors. She was pretty sure she'd caused irreparable damage to a middle aged couple in the seventh row. It was their own fault. They shouldn't have got in her way. Blair caught sight of the red suit as she reached the bottom flight of stairs, raced towards it faster than either of the blondes who followed. She only slowed when she realized Vanessa was already thirteen steps ahead of her, yelling out Chuck into the night air. The Brooklynite caught her target two steps before the corner, grabbed him by both hands and forced him to stop. The sight of the two, standing under the light of a streetlamp, hands held together, made Blair slow but not stop. It didn't calm her down to see him contained. It made her angrier. She walked the last few steps at a steady pace, listened to everything that was being said and every look they formed while saying it.

"Chuck," Vanessa started. "Don't run away."

"Don't touch me," Chuck ripped his hands back.

"Please," Vanessa tried his arm, he flinched away from it. "Just calm down."

"Calm down?" Chuck repeated in disbelief. "You expect me to calm down?" Vanessa put another hand out and he stepped fully back. "How could you do that to me?" He asked as the rest of their friends joined the circle of observers.

"That question you asked in the spring. I tried to answer it." She willed him to see it, to realize that it was a sympathetic rendering.

"I liked how you answered it the first time," Chuck threw back immediately.

"I know but…"

"How could you put my life on display?" Chuck finally yelled, arm waving angrily back at the theatre.

"That was you?" Nate put out in shock. He was the only one of that group of Upper East Siders who didn't already know. "You did that to your dad?" He couldn't have helped the accusation that sunk in.

"Shut up Nate," Blair snapped at the blonde because Chuck wasn't capable. He wasn't capable of much at that point. He just turned his eyes to the side, lowered his head to the ground and concentrated on breathing.

"Chuck," Vanessa tried first. "Are you alright?"

"Like you care!" Blair turned her anger on the proper source.

"I do."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Blair restarted the yelling, moved closer to Vanessa with two agitated steps.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart and Lewis danced another two times before they were interrupted. It wasn't, as history usually dictated, for Bart and business talk. He didn't defect to that until the Wiltshires appeared first, stole their could have been daughter from Bart's arms. Perhaps it was inappropriate for them to be here, but then again, neither were the perpetrator, just members of the silent dozen. They had her halfway around the room, greeting every couple they could before Bart took a glass of scotch and joined two Bass board members in a different corner.

"Lewis," Her son's grandfather directed her to another group of businessmen. "This is Pricilla and Mark Weitzman. They've just returned from Germany." Lewis smiled out of obligation; put her hand out though her eyes were decidedly removed. "This is our daughter-in-law Lewis."

That little creative rewriting of history made Lewis snap to the elder couple. "Mrs. Wiltshire," The husband nodded her head and she felt the first prick of total disgust. She stared hard at her exes parents but they were unaffected. Then she realized: the cash payout, the nannies and gifts and feigned bonds. Her ex's parents weren't just trying to stay in her good graces, they were trying to rewrite history. "We were sorry to hear about you husband," The wife offered.

Did they really expect her to act like a mourning widow? That was rich! "Excuse me," Lewis said without the attempt at a smile. She took long strides to her escape, flung open the patio doors with only a blonde head in tow. A few breaths of evening air and she was calm, well sort of. Then she noticed the woman standing behind her.

"Are you alright?" Lily asked as she offered a glass of champagne. Lewis took it gratefully. "I heard," She explained.

Lewis laughed, the roll of eyes proving it wasn't happily. "Apparently the Weitzmans have been gone a _really _long time."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It happened so fast, Blair was in the other girls face before any of them could intervene, pushing her backward in tiny shoves, screaming words that no one had heard her say before. Dan tried to move between them first but Serena pushed him right back, fixed him with a glare that dared him to move despite her censure. Dan gave it a moment. It's not like he approved of what his best friend had done. "Do you take pleasure in exposing other people's secrets?" Blair screamed. "In humiliating them?"

"Blair," Nate intervened first. "Vanessa isn't that kind of girl. She wouldn't hurt someone intentionally."

"And what part of a film project is unintentional?" Blair screamed at them both.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Nate defended the Brooklyner further.

"Oh yeah," Blair rolled her eyes. "Like she just went, opps, I'm going to find out the worst moment of someone's life and make it into a movie of the week."

"Blair," Vanessa tried to placate the other girl. "I know you're angry."

"I'm more than angry," Blair lunged at her. Dan tried to push forward again but Serena stayed lodged between him and his best friend. Blair had a fistful of hair before Vanessa could deflect. "You stupid bitch!"

"Blair," Nate tried to step between the two. He got a heel in the shin for his effort.

Vanessa tried to push to one side, to break free but Blair only pulled harder at her hair, dragged a nail down the opposite arm. The curses turned to splintered screams, a howl of pain from the weaker of the two. Serena managed to hold her boyfriend back until the hair pulling turned to an outright tackle. Blair threw herself into the slender Brooklynite, pushed until Vanessa fell to the cobblestone sidewalk, fistful of hair still clutched in each hand. At that point even Serena had to get involved. She tried to pull Blair from the smaller girl, Nate and Dan working in team to extract Vanessa from underneath. By the time they had the two girls separated, Vanessa's arm was covered in blood and Blair's shirt was ripped to the belly button. "Talk a walk," Serena suggested before Blair tried for round two.

Blair didn't walk far, but seven steps back and forth across the stoned street did start to calm her down. She pulled at her knotted hair and took countless deep breaths. They all did and when the calm returned Serena realized something else.

"Where is Chuck?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He was due at his seat now, assistant promising that he would have to relinquish front row center if he didn't appear at 8:57 precisely. He knocked lightly on the staging door, opened it when there was no answer. "Damien?" He called lightly into the room only to return silence again. He peered his head around the white door, eyes narrowing automatically when they caught sight of the Brit. Damien wasn't talking to anyone; his cell phone was sitting on the coffee table. The artist wasn't sitting beside it, he wasn't sitting at all. He had his back flush to the far wall, eyes closed and breath coming in unsteady jumps. "Damien?" Eric called louder, started across the small space. Damien opened his eyes at the voice, the expression in them startling Eric as much as the earlier presentation. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," Damien pushed off the wall, stepped right past his boyfriend without a look. "Just late."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck jumped the queue; the idea of standing at a ticket station, of fumbling with change was too much. So he leapt over the metal turnstile, took the cement stairs two at a time until he landed on the nearest subway platform. The smell was nauseating, a blend of grime and rotting garbage that turned his stomach as much as the reverberating speech of the evening rush echoed in his head. He eyed the east, eyed the west and went for the first car to stop. He grabbed the metal pole as the door chimed, tried to calm his nerves by walking side to side. It didn't help. Everything was rushing up, all that stuff he'd beaten so far down. It was all coming back, and with such speed that it scared him. He threw himself onto the floor; put his head against the metal of the subway car before letting it fall back down again. There was a voice in his head that reminded him he was acting crazy. He put a hand to his head and pulled it through, tried to breath through the growing dread. It didn't work. He put his head to his knees, by now oblivious to the crowd of commuters; the men and women giving him a wide circle at every side. Chuck slammed a fist to the floor. He wanted so much to be away and this stupid train wasn't going fast enough. He needed to get lost, to be found, to have a god damned drink already.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair turned the corner, crisscrossed the cobblestone streets, eyes scanning as quickly as her feet moved. Her heels drummed against the street with every step. She dodged the evening strollers, let her purse dangle unmanaged from a single hand. She couldn't catch a wisp of red, and the more she tried the deeper the dread dug. It sounded like the single key of a piano, banged in an incessantly angry sequence. The sound carried her right to the subway entrance, down three levels to dingy grey, where the common huddled in sequence. She hit the platform to matching chimes, two trains departing, one to the east and the other to the west. She watched them speed away in opposite directions, hands thrown up in frustration and tears clouding her brown eyes into black.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart stared across the crowded ball room, tried to find a hint of flashing black in the sea of pastels. Lewis was tall enough to tower over most of the women there but he couldn't see her anywhere. So he excused himself from business talk, took another sip of scotch and crossed the room for a new vantage. Then his phone vibrated and he took it out. It was from Lily, telling him to head towards the balcony. He was tempted to delete the message but he remembered how much his son needed Eric so he headed that way instead. The patio was decorated with hanging white lights, tiny flickers reflecting against the blackness of night. Lily was as stunning as always. He expected that. What he didn't expect was for Lewis to be standing beside her, heads bowed together in conversation. Lewis' surprise when she turned proved she hadn't expected him either. Lily excused herself the moment she saw her ex-husband, smiled privately as she passed and then returned to the ballroom.

"Are you alright?" Bart asked as he met his date. He could tell she wasn't, her knuckles were white against the stem of her glass and there was nothing interesting in the distance to garner such a glare. He leaned his right hand beside hers on the railing, lay his empty glass opposite hers.

"I'm fine," Lewis said with another look to the Manhattan skyline. "I just really hate that name."

"What name?"

"Wiltshire," Lewis dug both sets of nails into the carved wood. "It's not a nice name."

Bart nodded his head; he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be saying. So he tipped his empty glass, watched the last drip of amber cross the tiny glass. Lewis took another sip of her champagne and then set it aside. "Charles said I should ask you about Iqualuit," Bart started when the silence got to be too much.

"If you're looking for a summer home," Lewis stared out again. "Then I suggest a place where the temperature rises about 10 degrees Celsius."

That made Bart smile. "I'm guessing you didn't move there for the mild climate?"

"No," Lewis said simple, then softened her expression. "It has other beauties," she admitted. "I lived there six months. Aidan was born there and the school I worked at, they let me bring him with me."

"To work?"

"Yeah. They're that desperate for teachers in the North."

"Is that why you went there?"

"Why are you so curious about my intentions?" She tried to tease away the questions.

"My son said I should ask you why you moved there and what made you come back."

That turned Lewis' playful smile closer to sour. "Why did I live in Iqualuit?" She reflected and considered lying first. She couldn't. With one notable exception, she wasn't the type to lie. "Because it took Andrew only thirty-three days to find me in Montreal."

Bart felt the first glimmer of guilt. He had a pretty good idea what Chuck had meant already. "He still found you?"

"He paid someone for my social insurance number," She corrected, remnants of an earlier anger playing through. "I figured there wasn't much point in running after _that_."

"I'm sor…"

"Past is past," Lewis tried to dismiss the entire situation as nothing but there was still a hint to her eyes, to her plastered smile that proved it had been anything but nothing. The vulnerability was beautiful simply because she was usually so strong. For everything she had experience in life she ought to have been either meek or resentful but she wasn't, she was resilient and humble. Still it was breathtaking to see that tiny hint of vulnerability, the proof that she was still affected.

Bart moved his right hand first, traced a tiny line from her elbow to cover her left. She didn't object so he turned against the railing, used his left hand to cup her chin, to angle her face closer to his. They stood nearly the same height, eyes staring steady into his, the tiny difference turning the green slightly upward and fanning out a hundred lashes as a curtain. He didn't lean in until her lips parted, until he saw a hint of her seamlessly white teeth. Then he knew he had to kiss her. And he would have, he was halfway to it but then her phone rang. It broke their moment and she lunged for it in the subsequent awkwardness.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate typed a text to his best friend, hoping rather than believing he'd get a reply. He'd known Chuck since the day they were born, or perhaps more precisely Chuck had known him since the day he was born. Chuck Bass always operated the same. He needed time to calm down, space to settle things through. He'd be back tomorrow, unaffected and with fewer brain cells. Strangely that didn't bother Nate. It was expected.

And perhaps Blair's reaction was too. It proved what Nate had known all along. Blair truly loved his best friend. She loved him enough to fly down flights of stairs, run through the streets of Brooklyn, and wrestle another girl to the ground. Blair Waldorf was completely, truly, hopelessly in love with Chuck Bass. Maybe it didn't matter that Chuck didn't feel the same because Nate couldn't imagine a thing that could crack an attachment like that.

"I can't get a hold of Eric," Serena explained as she hung up her phone. "Damien is probably on camera."

"I'll try Chuck again," Nate offered.

"He's not going to pick up the phone," Serena yelled in frustration.

"Serena," Dan tried to calm his girlfriend. "I'm sure that he'll be fine."

"No he won't be," Serena lashed back and then turned on the source of this entire situation. Vanessa was frozen on the sidewalk, rubbing awkwardly at three cuts on her arm. She'd gotten pretty badly scrapped when Blair attacked her. "If he does something to hurt himself," Serena spat at the brunette, "then I'm coming back to hurt _you_!"

"Whoa, Serena. That's enough." Dan tried to pull her back but Serena wrenched her arm free, turned her angry glare to her boyfriend, and dared him to contradict it. She would have done more than glare but her phone saved the moment, and probably their relationship.

Serena stared down at the name and hissed. What did Isabelle want with her? "Now is not a good time," She snapped as she opened her phone.

"Serena, your brother is on television," Is screamed, Kat adding another voice behind.

"He's not," Serena corrected. "His boyfriend is."

"Well Eric just _totally_ jumped the stage."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So next chapter I'm going to introduce the Chuck Bass leash system. It works a bit like a dog collar for just these moments. And Nate's going to be the one to carry it (just kidding of course)_

_CBEBIW trory - I'm not going to be sad when Dam leaves (said with mischievous smile)_

_BrittyKay - You've got B's motivation to a "t"...nice work ;)_

_Hali - Thanks. C has already said ILU to Blair though (In YCFYF). How long will it take for them to work out their issues. We're reaching the end. The entire story will be sorted by the end of chapter 24 (which means about ten more posts if I don't have to break them into more than two). So count with me....10-9_

_Ingridmarie - C is going to make an appearance at prom :) I couldn't keep him away.  
_

_Angie - We've kicked off our last set of angst. It'll carry us right through to the end (well except the chapter or two of complete and unadulterated fluff)_

_Blair S - Dan & Serena are getting a good scene in the next section because obviously what happened has left them with some issues that need to be resolved. B & S have a couple friendship scenes as well (just not next post)  
_

_Doxeh - I'm glad someone sympathizes with N. I do when I take things from his POV. The problem is that you have to start from an egocentric starting point. It must be difficult to see his entire world change as C's does, he's got issues with his own family that have yet to be resolved. And it's going to get worse for him before better._

_oc-journey - The perfume issue will be addressed but not by Chuck. And N definately has trouble with making up his mind though he's going to work for 'something' rather consistently before the end. You just might hate what it is.  
_

_annablake - Will N find a way to redeem himself? Hmm. I don't think you'll care by the end. Not after the pitchforks anyway. What kind of person is N. In my little world he's egocentric, often acts without thinking things through first and has a victim mentality. He's got lots of positive attributes to balance those out but they're pretty heavy problems.  
_

_Up Next – Someone is dead, someone is alive and someone is never going to be the same again :)_


	49. Chapter Nineteen Part Three

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Nineteen – Part Three**

Blair sat at a stone bench. She'd hailed a taxi outside the subway station, returned to the Upper East Side and walked their list. Nate had taken another section, Serena the third. Eric was still missing in action. They'd spent the last hour searching and now Blair just wanted to sit. The sky was dark but they were still hours from midnight. It wasn't dark; it was never really dark in New York. There were too many streetlights, billboard lights, apartment lights for genuine darkness. But it wasn't bright enough to illuminate what Blair sought.

She was almost angry, at herself for losing control with Vanessa, for losing sight of Chuck for as much jealousy as fury. She was mostly angry at Chuck though, for putting her in this place again, for pushing them all back to the start. She began to doubt that it would ever end and that thought exhausted her more than the miles she'd tread. When the phone in her pocket beeped, she pulled it out in resignation. That resignation didn't last. When she read it shifted to disbelief, her eyes sparked upward and her shoulders pressed back against the stone.

**Don't worry about me. I'm at home.**

**C**

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart pulled at his tie as he stood behind the kitchen door. He'd undone the buttons of his suit as he called the limo, kicked his dress shoes off at the door. Bart had had half a mind to be angry at the caller that had interrupted his moment. The brief surge only lasted until he caught the name on call display. His son could interrupt anything he wanted. Now he was listening to the purpose of that call, standing close enough to hear the voices and catch glimpses of movements, but far enough away to remain separate from the conversation. Lewis passed a cup and tea back and forth in her slender hands as she spoke. "Everyone makes mistakes. Lord knows I've made _more_ than my fair share."

"Mine seem to be bigger than everyone else's."

"The bigger the mistake, the larger the lesson you learn from it."

"I must be damn knowledgeable."

"You probably are," Lewis squeezed the boy's hand. "Before I left for France I wrote Queller a letter."

"I know. She read it to me."

"Do you remember what it said?" Lewis asked and Chuck nodded that he did. "If you learned from your mistakes then you would be a better man for it," She recited. "And you have. You have changed so much from the immature and angry boy I entangled with a year ago. You should hold onto that."

"There are so many things I would have done differently."

"Everyone feels that way," Lewis promised. "And that's why we make mistakes, so that the _next_ time we know what to do. Our lives aren't about the mistakes; it's all about the recovery from them. I think that if you do wrong but use the knowledge you learn from that wrong to change your life, then there is purpose. I think that the worst mistakes have the potential to push you to the greatest triumphs."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I have to."

Bart bowed his head back, stepped away from his post at the door. He walked straight to his office and shut the door behind him. Lewis was right. People needed the space to make mistakes, to learn from them, and the chance to leave them behind. He sat in his chair, pushed his back into the leather backing and pulled the drawer on the right. What was the purpose in dwelling in the past? He grabbed the folder from the top drawer and used his son's lighter to set one corner aflame. He held it just a moment, watched the flames flick across what was never his business to know. Then he stood and opened the grate to his fireplace, threw her history just where it belonged.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair didn't really believe Chuck's words until she saw him in the Bass kitchen, cup of tea threaded between his fingers and relaxed calm to his features. She didn't believe he was sober until he turned, sane until he smiled at her. Then the relief was so overwhelming that she cried; tiny little tears that barely dampened the corner of her eyes and came without sound. She ran at him, crushed him in her arms before he could think to escape. "Oh my god," She whispered into his ear and pulled together. "You're alright."

"I told you I was," Chuck said as she pulled back. She didn't break contact, just pulled far enough to study his eyes and test his expression. They were steady, clouded but not broken. She waited another moment without speaking. She needed the guarantee that he was until truly alright. When she felt it she slapped him hard across the shoulder.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" She ordered, pressed her dampening cheek to his dry one and wrapped her arms tightly around him again. She held on as if her life depended on it, breathed in his scent until all her senses were coated by it, until every part of her knew he was really here. She didn't let go until the movement to the right reminded Blair they weren't alone. Lewis was inching towards the door. Blair mouthed her thanks at the older woman and she winked in return.

"Will you come walking with me?" Blair asked and Chuck nodded his acceptance. "Can I take him away?" Blair asked again, this time to Lewis.

"It's not up to me," Lewis humoured Blair with a wave of her hand.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena was curled up on Dan's bed, using his laptop to watch the video. They'd searched the Brooklyn locales of Chuck's list, defected to the Humphrey loft after Blair's relieved phone call. Now that the elder was safe, Serena was looking for the younger. Since she'd outed him the prior year, Gossip Girl had a fascination with the youngest Van der Woodsen that almost matched that of the older. It wasn't surprising she had a recording of Damien's live interview. After they'd watched it the first time, Serena and Dan understood why it was posted front and center. Serena hit the tiny triangle again as Dan stroked circles into her curve of her back.

Serena could tell Damien was off from the first frame. His speech was slower than normal, he kept missing his cues and there was no hint of the usual wit or cleverness. The host tried her best to draw the Damien through her questions but the Brit was stagnant, offering short answers that bordered on brusque. He lost his train of thought repeatedly and by five minutes in was more brushing at his hair than focusing on the subjects at hand. If she didn't know him Serena would have assumed her brother's boyfriend was high on drugs. Serena's pretty sure that's what the interviewer supposed, at least until she threw out the question about Damien's family, about growing up with five older brothers. Then the tears formed and everything became shockingly clear. Damien tried so hard to keep himself calm, to stay composed even as his voice turned shaky. The host tried to salvage the spot, even as her guest started to cry properly, but somewhere in the middle the truth came out.

_My brother is dead._

Eric was on the stage a moment later, long legs bounding the distance from the front row. He dropped to his knees in front of his boyfriend, brought Damien's chin up and wiped at his tears. Despite the context it was a beautiful moment, the way Damien pressed his forehead in return, shut his eyes and listened to Eric's whispers. The feed died on that, station having the foresight to cut to commercial. Serena pushed the tiny box on the right, closed the Gossip Girl homepage. She wouldn't watch it again.

"Do you want to call Eric?" Dan suggested from behind her.

"I tried already. Eric's got his phone off."

"Do you think Damien will be okay?"

"He'd got Eric with him," Serena pointed out. "He couldn't do better."

"You could call Eric at the apartment."

Serena shook her head. "Eric is where he needs to be, dealing with what's important to him."

Dan acquiesced at that, pulled his girlfriend closer and buried his head into her neck. It had been an eventful evening. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"I think I should head home," Serena thought aloud. "Talk to Blair, maybe head by and check on Chuck."

"I should probably visit Vanessa," Dan countered with a look at the clock. "In the morning." Serena stiffened at the idea, curled her shoulders back away from her boyfriend. "Are we going to talk about what happened?" Dan asked as she moved.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"We're not likely to see eye to eye."

"Try me."

"I can't."

"I've already guessed that you weren't just worried about Chuck getting hammered." Dan had pieced enough of their surreptitious statements together, both from that night and the last couple weeks, to get a generous portion of the truth. "Why don't you tell me what happened."

"I can't."

"So that's it," Dan said softly. "You don't trust me enough to give me the benefit of the doubt."

"It's not that. It's not my place to talk…"

"Just stop. I told you already that I want a real relationship with you. I didn't get back to repeat all our mistakes of junior year or last fall. I want to grow up with you," Dan promised. "But part of that involves trusting me with your problems, knowing that you can rely on me to help you through things."

"It's not my problem."

"If it's affecting you than it is your problem," Dan countered. "We can argue this all night or you can realize the truth: having one life on the Upper East Side and one relationship in Brooklyn will never work. It didn't work in the past and it won't now. If you try to keep us separate then the only thing that will separate is us. Haven't you figured that out already?"

"It's Chuck's problem."

"I don't care about Chuck. _I love you. _I only care about Chuck because it is upsetting you. Whatever you need to tell me just do it. I won't tell anyone…"

"Or make a movie out of it?" Serena couldn't help but throw in.

"Have I ever broken your confidence? Ever lied or cheated or misused you?"

"No."

"Then trust me so that I can trust you as well."

Serena took a deep breath and decided that Dan was right. If she wanted to be with him, really and truly from the bottom of her heart then the time for secrets had passed. High school was nearly over. It was time to function as adults. So she pulled free, crossed her legs and started at the beginning. "About five weeks ago Chuck tried to kill himself."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis pulled the set of pins from her hair as she stepped across her green bedroom. She felt the bangs fall before she saw their reflection. She straightened the blackened tips as a reflex, pulled the curls straight as she met the mirror. When she looked into it she saw Bart. He was reclined against the opposite wall, closest to the door, eyes following hers. "Is Charles okay?"

"I think so. Blair took him away," She explained. "Hopefully they'll talk."

Bart nodded his head. They both leaned to that end. "Thank you for talking to him."

"You're the one who should have."

"You did much better than I ever have."

"Practice makes perfect," Lewis turned to tease the older man. She kicked off her shoes to stand barefoot in the middle of the room.

"I'm sorry your evening got cut short."

Lewis laughed. That was the last thing she cared about.

"Of course," Bart checked his watch. "It's only 10pm now. We could go back."

She laughed again at that thought, crossed the remaining distance and pulled tauntingly at Bart's already loose tie. "I hardly think we're presentable enough." It was true. Her feet were bare, hair half undone and gloss left on a tea cup downstairs. Bart had lost a cufflink somewhere in the limousine, traded a pressed presentation for crumpled dress shirt.

"You're still the most beautiful one in the room," Bart whispered as he touched her bare shoulder. She shivered at the intimacy, deflected to joking as his fingertips traced the line of her neck, met the gold chain wrapped around it and followed it downward.

"There are only two of us here," She tried to tease but it came too deep to be humorous. Bart reached the medallion at the base of her neck, stroked the circle of gold and the hollow of her throat beneath it. He closed the face of St. Anthony of Padua between his fingers as his lips dipped towards her, sought what had already been interrupted. He was halfway when she yanked on the tie in her hands, closed the gap with an urgency that he instantly matched. She pulled while he kissed; tie on the floor, jacket soon to follow. She moaned against his mouth as his hand grabbed at her thigh, pushed at black silk until they hit the bed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The chill of evening had turned to the cold of night by the time Blair and Chuck jumped the fence at Constance. She'd gone first, pushed up by Chuck's stronger arms. She'd offered her hand once she was down; put on the jacket he tossed first. They both eventually collapsed in the small garden by the back. There was an after school club devoted to keeping it. It was one club Blair had never signed up for. Why would she? It involved digging in dirt and getting scratched by thorns. Blair's love for community had limitations. They were stretched out on the lawn beside the rows of roses, pointing out stars in the curiously clear sky. The city of New York was never that clear, smog usually competed with street lights and clouds to forever obscure nature. That kind of clarity, it had to mean something.

"We need to destroy Vanessa," Blair suggested after they'd traced every visible constellation. The plans were already forming in her head. After what she'd done, Blair wouldn't be happy until they'd exiled her to Vermont forever.

"I don't want to."

"Excuse me?" Blair said in shock, grass falling from Chuck's red suit jacket as she sat. "She deserves to be annihilated."

"She probably does," Chuck agreed as he sat to match her. "I just don't think I should. I mean, she needs that film to go to school," He explained with a look at the grass.

"So?"

"You were the only one that knew about that," Chuck explained. Serena had found out too but he hadn't been the one to tell. "Even Nate didn't figure it out until I said it."

"So?"

"So what does it matter? Let Vanessa have her stupid little movie. She wants to go to college more than I want revenge." Blair took a deep breath, swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. She couldn't chase away her murderous expression though and when Chuck caught it he tried one more explanation. "It's the right thing to do."

Since when had Chuck cared about being the bigger person? "How did she even find out about that stuff?"

"I told her," Chuck admitted and Blair's discomfort spread a little deeper.

"And why would you do that?"

"I don't remember," Chuck rolled his eyes. "I was drunk." Blair shook her head slowly at the admission. It might have fit except Blair knew Chuck. Even fully intoxicated he had motivations, even smashed beyond common reason he still remembered them. "Does it matter?" Chuck asked as he touched her hand and stared up. She met his brown eyes and decided it couldn't, not when he looked at her that way.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa hit the refresh button for the hundredth time in a row, stared at her tiny computer screen and prayed for the confirmation she sought. There was nothing; no sightings of Chuck whatsoever. She grabbed at her phone and considered calling Dan again. She didn't progress any further than the last twenty times she'd considered. The phone went to her bed and the refresh got hit again.

How had her life got to this point? She was Vanessa Abrams! Two years ago the biggest scandal attached to her name was having a lesbian for an older sister. And let's face it; that was only scandalous in small town Vermont. When had she got entangled in this Gossip Girl world? Where people lied and cheated to get ahead? Where they gossiped and backstabbed to keep others behind? Was it when Dan started dating Serena, when she had started dating Nate, or when she slept with Chuck? What had changed her into the girl that would do these sorts of things? This night had just reinforced a truth she already knew. This was neither the girl she wanted to be or the world she wanted to live in.

Her phone beeped and she grabbed for it, opened the incoming text with a mix of dread and expectation.

**He's fine, thought you'd like to know.**

**N**

Vanessa breathed a huge sigh of relief and then snapped her laptop shut.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair has the tiniest hands, short fingers that disappeared behind Chuck's as he pressed a palm to hers. They were as delicate as her, fingers soft to his caress. He traced the height of her pointer, measured the width of her thumb with his. It was strange, he supposed, to adore something as small as this. But he did. He adored every small part of her, from the bridge of her nose to the arch of her foot.

Perhaps that was all that mattered. Maybe it wasn't about labels or maybe it was just that she'd been his lover all along. He'd certainly loved her through everything, when it wasn't appropriate, when it wasn't wanted, but deepest when it was. He'd loved her as long as memory could stretch, though he might not have always recognized it as such. But now that he had, he couldn't help but want her despite everything else. Maybe it wasn't about grand romantic gestures or elaborately planned speeches. Maybe they'd been playing the part of boyfriend and girlfriend without the diamonds, or the I love yours or the labels. He talked to her like she was, touched her like she was, and dreamed of her like she should be.

Perhaps he didn't need to say a thing. Maybe he just needed to kiss again, softly, without running away. Maybe he could because he hadn't run away. Once upon a time he'd made that promise. He'd sketched out in ink that when he could survive his problems without adding either a stamp to his passport or further distress to his liver, then he would make her his. And he had. He'd faced what he had sober and sane. What more was there?

"Blair," He whispered against her louder "Chuck." They stared at their draw, neither speaking until Blair broke, "Me first."

Chuck nodded his head slowly as she fidgeted, touched his chin at first before turning away, settling her back to his stomach and her eyes outward to the rising sun. He found her fingers again, held her hand while she organized her thoughts. "I don't think you realize how much you scare us."

Chuck focused on her thumb to keep from flinching away. He did know that. He knew exactly how much. "We all love you," Blair said softly. "And every time you pull away from us, when you pull away from me. When you disappear I am so terrified that it might be the time you don't come back again."

"Blair…I'm doing…"

"No, you need to hear this." She pulled her hand back from where his had fallen still. She used it to cover his instead. "You need to understand that you can't do it anymore." Her curls ticked the base of his throat as she shook her head. "If something happens to you then you need to accept our help, my help. You need to call me or text me or just pick up the damn phone because if something happened to you, really happened to you I don't know how I would deal with that." Chuck bowed his head at that, pressed his forehead against her shoulder and shut his eyes. Everything he felt, all the words he'd considered died under her truth. He reset his locks as she whispered her last words. "I don't think I could survive it."

Chuck stayed silent beside her, his eyes joining hers in their study of the horizon. She broke first, turned her face to his and asked. "Do you understand?"

"I never want to hurt you," Chuck promised. He never wanted to. It didn't stop him from doing it a hundred times before. "I'm sorry Blair," He whispered back but not just for tonight.

"What did you want to tell me?" She asked as the first chill of morning drifted between them. He didn't answer right away; just pulled her tight as the morning sun turned its rays into the night sky. How could he speak? Her words had stolen his.

"I think I should get you home," Chuck said at last.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The night was already turning to day but Eric wasn't sleeping. He was only half reclined, legs stretched to full length but shoulders pressed to the headboard. The lights of Brooklyn were being replaced by a natural hue of the morning sun. It came through the open window, cast shadows on the boy beside him. Damien had fallen asleep beside him, fitful at first but then slowing to calm. The older boy was lying on his side; his back was bare Eric's touch. Eric traced the feathers while Damien slept; the lines of permanent ink that decorated both shoulder blades. He outlined the marking of one wing and then the other, paused in the unmarked hollow of spine that curved between.

He stroked the proof that even guardian angels could fail.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

There was no servants scurrying when Chuck arrived back home. He could have fetched one if he knocked but he chose to enter lightly, sneak through the entrance hall with creased red suit jacket in one hand. He tossed it at the entrance table, weight lifted from his hand but not his heart. It was one thing to have a fear; it was another to have it whispered in your ear. Chuck raked one hand through his hair as he passed the kitchen, pulled a water bottle from the fridge and emptied it. He felt like his heart was layered, intentions piled over with necessities, one after the other until everyone was too thick to be freed. He'd succeed at first, excavate some hope or turn over friendship to love and then the dirt would fall again. He always seemed to end right back where he started.

There had to be a better way to manage. Chuck grabbed another bottle and started for the stairs. He checked his watch. It was nearly 6am. He needed some advice on how to proceed. Lewis was training for the Toronto Marathon in October. Her dream for 2010 was to run in the Boston Marathon. It'd be her first after a nearly three year hiatus. Toronto was one of the qualifiers. She planned her long runs for Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. She'd be up lacing her runners by now. He knocked lightly when he reached the bedroom door, inched it slowly open. The darkness surprised him. He opened his mouth to whisper her name, intent dying when he realized that she was still in bed. That wasn't what shocked him. It was who was in bed with her.

Chuck jumped back from the sight, shut the door as quietly as he could and leaned against it. Everything he felt in entering the house washed out for a moment, replaced by an ecstatic smile. He put a fist to his mouth, felt like laughing as his head hit the wood. He let out a string of muffled expletives but they were far from angry. They might just have been joyous.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – okay…short post but figured you deserved the update. Next post starts chapter 20, we're getting closer to the end :) I'll supply the baseball bat but not the author's head. You'll have to hunt me down on your own ;) _

_Oh, season finale = yeah, yeah, yeah! Though I had to laugh so hard on the scrapbook thing from the episode before. I always get such a giddy feeling when the show has any strange similarities to what I've written. Love that Georgina is going to be B's roommate next year and I really love the idea of a storyline about S and E's father. I hope that means E will get more screen time (become a regular?) because if they do it as only affecting S I'm going to be disgusted. It ought to affect E as much if not more._

_Bluestriker – yeah! You're still reading!_

_Angie38 – I love dressing up Chuck. It really must be one of the best jobs to have on the actual television show.  
_

_Sky Samuelle – V is going to explain herself next chapter. I don't think either D or V think that what she did was okay though. I agree with your assessment of N in the finale. How come everything always comes easy for him? V is such a doormat! (Which is ironic because I'd kind of written her as one when it comes to N (based on the fact that she already took him back once when he dumped her for no reason, took him back despite the fact he was a gigalo) here and she just reinforces it in the show (see comment about strange similarities)). I can help you with PFAR in a few weeks if you'd like (the end of the school year is hectic)._

_Silkenbone – yeah! You're still reading too. Hope you enjoyed the L/B here :)_

_Ingridmarie – V is going to explain her thinking next chapter I promise. As for Nate not knowing. The only one C told is B (besides Vanessa) but Georgina told S. And Nate…he's so dumb he probably still wears Velcro shoes.  
_

_annablake – Adam will make one more appearance (I swear when I mention someone by name it's like a signpost that they might be back). If you hate N now, oh just wait until next chapter. I'll get the pitchforks ready :) You're the only one who guessed it was D's brother. You get another gold star. Your chart must be full by now ;) As for LeB, why would you have any doubts there? It's not like they've gotten together under light speed with no problems whatsoever…cough, cough…oh, guess they have (which wouldn't really be a problem if it wasn't one of __my__ stories)._

_Blair S – The good thing is that C is still fine and he found Blair. _

_oyjha – Yeah, new reviewer! LeB is more than seem now :) Hope you liked this fast update (we had a holiday in Canada on Mon, that's always good for an extra post)._

_oc-journey06 – C had been a LeB shipper since he caught them making pasta in the kitchen. Let's face it; he shipped Lily with his dad despite who Lily was. He'd definitely jump twice as far for Lewis who he adores already. I hope you liked the family feel in this chapter._

_BrittyKay – B didn't need to find C, he found himself ;)_

_Up Next – C. better hold onto that smile because we all know that when it rains in his life it's never a trickle but the beginning of a torrential downpour. Oh…and don't you know? Stupid choices always spiral into stupider ones :)_


	50. Chapter Twenty Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty – Part One**

_May 9th, 2009_

_Sometimes when I sit back, when i truly consider each and everything Chuck has done to me I wonder how I can love him the way that I do. I have to think myself irrational or stack up my competing wrongs to try to make things balance. Sometimes I question the why but never the fact. I've always loved Chuck Bass in my own way. He's always loved me in his. Even as children we schemed against the rest of our peers. As youth we jumped back and forth between close friends and sworn enemies. I used to think that's the way we worked. Now I think it was a way to restore the distance we needed to continue. We always fought the moment after we grew too close, fell back together the moment we needed each other again. I thought it was about Chuck and his obsessive need for distance. Perhaps it was as much about me, my need to conserve my love for Nate.__ And I did love Nate with the kind of fascination any girl ought to feel for a Prince Charming. I loved him like I was Cinderella, Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. It was easy to define, uncomplicated in its design. _

_It's the antithesis of how I feel for Chuck._

_Blair Waldorf  
_

Bart had woken first, sometime before seven o'clock. He'd felt the woman shift beside him, didn't even open his eyes as he smiled. He touched the softness of her skin and buried his face closer to her shoulder. He felt calmed, comforted like he hadn't been in years. It felt like home.

Lewis' thoughts weren't so unaffected. They were hazy at first, a slow lull that hardly shifted as she acclimatized to day. Her muscles were weary but that wasn't odd. She ran nearly every single day. Except the fatigue wasn't confined to her thighs or the pull to her calves, her entire body was worn but not unpleasantly. There was gratification to their heaviness, a delight that pulled a brief smile to her face as she awoke. Then she felt the shift beside her, the line of warmth that spread from her toes along one side to her shoulder. She felt the other body beside her and she remembered exactly who it belonged to. Bart's lips kissed the round of her shoulder and Lewis exchanged all her delight for panic.

"Good morning," The throaty voice jarred her further, widened her enormous green eyes to full circles. She stared at her bed mate from the corner of one eye, caught a glance of his smiling face and suddenly remembered that she was still naked beneath the sheets. She pulled them tight around her body, tried to cover even though the time for humility disappeared somewhere about seven hours ago. She sat up as she tangled the white around her.

"Good morning?" She tried to reflect but her voice rose into question at the end. If Bart was aware of her unease he didn't let it affect him. She eyed the twisted clothes on the floor and wondered if two glasses of champagne was enough for the drunken excuse? She usually only ever drank one. Then she felt him shift closer, lips pulling uncomfortably close to hers. Lewis threw herself backward on instinct, shifted so much weight that she fell entirely off the bed.

"Are you alright?" Bart stared down as she tried to recover her cotton sheets. They'd remained half on the bed, killed her last attempts at modesty. They couldn't be easily pried away with Bart lying on top. So she grabbed for a pillow and tried to hold it at the right angle. "Are you alright?" He asked again, this time not for the tumble.

"Actually no," Lewis admitted. "This probably happens all the time for you but it doesn't for me."

"So you'd like me to…"

"I think you'd better go back downstairs," Lewis suggested. "Before your son realizes where you are."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair fondled the tiny piece of gold and smiled. It'd been waiting for her when she woke up, tiny velvet box with an equally small card. Blair had come to expect the daily gifts from Nate, to start each morning with chocolates or flowers. Harold teased her about them over breakfast. Blair might have chalked it up to fatherly preference but Harold had warmed to Chuck over the weeks he'd spent there. It was one less division to cross. This gift symbolized the ending of another. Blair adored it because it wasn't a gift. It was the return of hers. Sitting in a bed of velvet was Blair's tiny heart pin. It was the one she had sewn on Nate's green sweater, her attempt at girlish romanticism. It was a sign that Nate's attempt at courtship was over. He'd even affirmed it with his words.

_**I thought it was time for you to have this back. Ones heart should always remain their own.**_

_**Nate Archibald**_

Blair ran her finger along the raised edges and smiled. She'd be a liar if she said it was only relief she felt. She felt so many things: sadness over the end of something that had once meant everything, a kind of nostalgia she didn't expect, even a twinge of regret that she hadn't been the one to ask for it first. All those negative feelings were temporary, outdone by anticipation. She was genuinely happy. She finally had a chance to start over with Nate, not as lovers but friends. Blair pulled the slip of gold, added it to her charm bracelet as a different kind of symbol. It was a sign that sometimes second chances didn't mean rediscovering love but figuring out what to be to one another after love was gone. She touched the charm one more time; let it drop with the rest of her bracelet as she sat back. Blair pulled her legs beneath her as she opened her phone. She texted Nate plans for the evening with a much lighter heart.

_**Come over later. We can go over the checklist for prom.**_

_**B**_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric opened the door to his boyfriend's apartment with heavy eyes. His jeans and grey cashmere sweater had been pristine the day of Damien's interview. Pulled on again the next morning they looked rumbled and creased. Eric pushed the unwashed bangs from his forehead and smiled wearily at his visitors.

"Bagels," Chuck held up one hand.

"Orange juice," Serena held the other.

"Enter," Eric stepped back to let his siblings through, took both gifts as they paused to remove their shoes.

"Who is it?" Damien called from within.

"Chuck and Serena. They brought bagels and orange juice."

Damien appeared next. In contrast to his boyfriend, the Brit was freshly washed, dressed without a crumple (which was better than his best standard). His eyes were sharp and posture straight. "They'll go well with the eggs," He grabbed both quickly and disappeared back to the kitchen.

Serena and Chuck exchanged a worried glance with one another and then with the youngest. There were no words for Eric to offer in return. He just shrugged and headed back towards the kitchen. He'd been dealing with the energetically unaffected Damien since six o'clock that morning.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa and Dan were stretched across the floor of her apartment. His back was to the bed, legs pulled out to their full length, extending from the corner that served as bedroom to the side that served as living room. His feet met hers there, toes touching as her legs extended to the living room. Her back was perched against the apartment's sole couch. The fact that their toes could touch, it was proof of how small that loft was. The pair was splitting a pot of coffee between them, black because Vanessa had run out of milk sometime last week. They could have split something stronger but it was nine o'clock in the morning and, deep down, neither of them were truly those sorts of people.

"How could you make a movie about that?" Dan asked after half an hour. "I mean it was good but…"

"Because Chuck was never supposed to see it."

"But you invited him."

"I didn't have a choice," Vanessa admitted. They exchanged one look; it was enough for Dan to guess the reason. "I tried to write something else. Then I told myself I wouldn't qualify. When we started filming I didn't care because Chuck had broken his promise to not tell Nate," Vanessa shook her head, violet eyes turning again to ashen grey. "Mostly though I thought he'd never find out. I mean it was _just _a film school project."

"Vanessa," Dan tried a sympathetic rendering.

"Why did you have to start dating Serena again," Vanessa threw out in almost anger. It wasn't really anger. Despite what Serena had done, Vanessa actually approved of the match. She wanted her best friend to be happy. It's just that the timing stunk!

"Is that why you invited Chuck?"

Vanessa shook her head sadly, eyes turning to the carpet. "I couldn't trust that you wouldn't bring her, that she wouldn't know or that you wouldn't discuss it…" Vanessa began in a ramble that ended in a muted grunt. She put her head up again. "I thought that if Chuck watched it with me, if I could explain…oh god, I don't know…I thought I could contain things."

"You thought you could contain Chuck Bass?"

"I know," Vanessa rolled her eyes at herself. "You're supposed to be the naïve one in this friendship."

That made Dan smile lightly.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" Vanessa asked.

"Do you truly care whether he does or not?"

Vanessa didn't answer immediately. She truly considered the question. Did she care for his forgiveness? It's not like she had ever sought out his friendship, or cared for him beyond a kind of pity that had been sparked in the spring. She still did care though. Maybe it's just that she couldn't imagine anyone in the world thinking as poorly of her as he must in that moment.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Damien could actually cook decent scrambled eggs. It was surprising considering his usual fare was more burned than cooked, either over or under spiced, basically inedible. Perhaps that's why the Brit was skinny as a pole. Damien added two more plates to the breakfast bar, scooped his eggs with their bagels, added slices of cantaloupe and strawberries to complete the set. He urged them all to eat and, maybe because they were afraid of his reaction, they did. Damien washed the pots even though his sink was always two-thirds full, cleaned down the countertops and the surface of his stove. He kept up a hive of activity as Chuck leaned over, put his fork down and whispered to his brother. "Has he been like this since yesterday?"

"No," Eric whispered back. "He was really upset last night."

Chuck narrowed his eyes at that. "Did he talk to you about things?" Eric denied it with a shake. When Damien started on the _inside_ of the refrigerator Chuck decided to ask. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," The Brit promised with a kind of boyish smile. His three guests almost shuddered at the sight. When did Damien ever smile so innocently or shyly?

"Are you really?" Serena put it to words next.

"I know what you're all thinking," Damien explained. "But I really am fine. I always knew my brother was going to die," He threw the cloth to the counter as he said it, leaned back with eyes that didn't even flicker. "He never had any desire to get better. It was just a matter of when. Now I know the time and place," Damien shrugged as if it truly was that simple.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa already had one familiar customer when she entered the coffee shop. Her film mentor was sitting in the back corner. He'd tied his hair back that afternoon, ponytail emphasizing his high cheekbones. They, along with his last name, were the only evidence of his partial aboriginal heritage. Adam had traded his usual jeans for a pair of grey slacks, a collared shirt hung above that and was layered by a graphic hoodie. She studied him as she tied her apron. He never looked up but she didn't expect him to. He was shy. That's why the school had insisted he work as a mentor. Even when he'd assisted her he'd spoken only as necessary, the conversation of the night before longer than standard.

"You're back again?" Vanessa decided to tease the older boy as she refilled his cup.

"Best coffee in town," Adam promised with those blue eyes, eyebrow piercing nearly glinting against the light in each. Vanessa arched one of her violet eyes in return, thought to say more but the MFA student was already back to his script, writing comments in the side column. Vanessa considered talking anyway but that was before the other voice spoke and competed for her attention.

"Vanessa," Nate called out through the afternoon din, strolled through the tiny shop in loose capris and a navy shirt, sandals flapping against the floor with every easy step.

"Nate," Vanessa dangled the pot of coffee in her hand, nearly brushed him with it as she walked by, back towards the counter, away from him. He might have apologized but it didn't mean he had to be nice to him. Apparently he thought it did. Nate padded behind her, took the central booth at the small counter.

"What are you doing here?" Vanessa asked after she'd brewed a new pot, paid out two customers, even reorganized the filters while Nate sat. He didn't grasp hints easily.

"I just wanted to check on you," Nate explained with a shrug.

"Why?" Vanessa asked.

"Well Blair took you out pretty bad."

It was true. Vanessa had three bandages down one arm and a scrap at the base of her chin to prove it. It's not like she didn't deserve each marking. Vanessa was going to explain as much but changed her mind in the last minute. "I always took her for a biter," She threw out instead.

It made Nate laugh. That wasn't a good thing. She adored that laugh too much. It was so light that it almost blended into his stunning eyes and soft chin. "Blair's just…well she's Blair," Nate smiled wider and all Vanessa's adoration disappeared. She was briefly tempted to rest her coffee pot right on one well defined arm.

"Yeah," She mumbled instead, untied and retied her apron as an uncomfortable silence fell between them. "So Chuck is really okay?"

"He's been doing better than okay," Nate ran a hand across the counter as he said it, eyes actually reflective.

Vanessa tied her apron one more time and tried to conjure up the words to force the blonde's exit. She opened her mouth on the first insult but it wasn't what came out. "What about you?" She snapped her mouth disappointedly as she said it. What was wrong with her? Her mouth and thoughts had a definite disconnect. Nate sighed once and she felt the sympathy. Why was she feeling sympathetic? He was a Serena-fucker! A Blair-lover! "Why don't you tell me about it?" The urge to slap herself after that was almost overwhelming.

"My father hates me."

"Isn't that exaggerating a little?"

"He yells all the time about Dartmouth."

"Still," Vanessa arched one brow. "It's been months since you accepted at UCLA. Hasn't he got over it by now?"

Nate shifted uncomfortably in his stool. "I haven't overturned my acceptance to Dartmouth yet."

"So do it," Vanessa said it as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

"He's threatened to disown me if I do."

"Yeah right."

"I think he's serious."

"Which makes you gullible," Vanessa rolled her eyes again. "But I knew that already."

"You don't understand. The last seven generations of men in my family have gone to Dartmouth."

"I _do_ understand. You told me like a year ago."

"Oh," Nate mumbled and Vanessa decided she needed a cup of coffee, poured herself one, ran it along the table until a pale hand stopped it. When she looked up it wasn't into Nate's blue eyes.

"Bye," Adam said uncomfortably but she returned it easily.

"Who is that?" Nate asked as his eyes followed the older boy.

"Adam Starr," Vanessa provided. When that wasn't enough she expanded. "He's my film school mentor."

"Ah," The shake of Nate's head was casual but the eyes weren't as he watched Adam exit. By the time he'd turned back to Vanessa he'd deferred to his usual blankness.

"So," Vanessa took a sip of her own coffee. It was half made up with cream; she was making up for the week of black she'd endured at home. "Your life?" She asked and again wondered why the question came. _Hurl through door_ she reminded herself, then told herself that she couldn't do that at work, then remembered that she hadn't done it at home either.

"It's just not great," Nate ran a finger along the rim of his cup as he thought. "My future is uncertain, my family is driving me nuts, my best friend has all but abandoned me and the girl I love, she doesn't even know I exist."

Vanessa took a sip of coffee and tried to ignore the startling similarities in their stories. She took another sip when she realized she'd just admitted to loving him. She so didn't love him anymore. She'd probably never loved him, tried to convince herself of it. She tried for a good two minutes and then gave up in exasperation.

"…she only has eyes for Chuck," Nate was still talking beside her.

Vanessa was halfway through her coffee. She wondered if Nate even realized how inappropriate it was to have this conversation with _her._ Of course not! That would require thinking reflectively _before_ speaking.

"I just think that I could be so good for her," Nate promised and Vanessa finished the rest of her cup, filling it immediately. "I mean Chuck doesn't even want her."

Vanessa choked on the fresh sip. It broke Nate's soliloquy. "Do you really believe that?" She asked.

"I _could_ be good for her," Nate reaffirmed and Vanessa hid her rolling eyes behind the ceramic. That wasn't what she was talking about. "I know I've made lots of mistakes but I've changed since then."

Vanessa was a good halfway down the second cup. She needed it to bite back the instinctual remarks.

"I think I had to try dating Serena," Nate explained. "Otherwise I would have always had some fascination with the whole idea of being wild and carefree. I had to learn that wasn't right for me so that I could truly make things work with Blair. Now I can appreciate her methodical ways of proceeding."

Vanessa wondered what would happen if she tossed the rest of her coffee onto Nate's face. Would it burn? A few scars and it might break her fascination with him. It was surely an unnatural appeal based solely on how pretty he was.

"I had to be with Serena so that I would know that I loved Blair all along."

Vanessa let her coffee filled hand fly just four inches off the table. It took all her force of will to pull it back down. She wondered where _their_ relationship fit in his little logical progression. Had he forgotten it all? She didn't think he did _that much _pot. "So Blair is the ideal woman for you," She couldn't help the snap as she summarized.

Nate didn't seem to notice. "Well yeah, I guess. It doesn't matter. She's _so _in love with Chuck that it'll never happen."

Vanessa was going to offer up the '_that's too bad'_ but somewhere before the first syllable she regained some semblance of self-respect.

"I just want someone like her," Nate decided. "Well maybe not exactly like her. Someone beautiful," He threw out first and Vanessa finished her second cup. "And hardworking, intelligent but maybe not as driven as Blair. But not as lazy as Serena. I like having everything planned out but perhaps with a little more flexibility. And they have to listen, to really care," Nate shook his head as his thoughts built. "And love sailing! I want someone like that."

_Someone like her._ Vanessa watched the tiny black rim at the bottom of her cup spread as she turned it side to side. "Well it's too bad about Blair," Vanessa said as she dumped the empty cups into the sink.

"Yeah," Nate agreed. "If she could just turn her eyes from Chuck, we could be so much."

"Maybe she will someday," Vanessa threw out as if she cared.

"I thought going to prom with her would change things," Nate explained. "Now I don't even want to go."

"Then don't," Vanessa said dismissively.

Nate shook his head, stared at the brunette and had a startling realization. He didn't want to be chasing a girl who didn't notice him. He didn't want to spend one of the greatest nights of his life tied to a dancing partner who didn't even see him. "Would you like to go to prom with me?" Nate asked on impulse.

"_Me_?" Vanessa reflected in surprise. "You're going with Blair."

"She would understand," Nate promised, affixed Vanessa with begging eyes.

"_No she wouldn't_!" The firmer voice cracked the need for an answer. Nate looked over to see his best friend staring daggers at the two, arms crossed over a pink polo. Nate met Chuck's glare with one of his own before looking away from the friend who'd stolen the prize he wanted most.

"I think she would," Nate returned.

"Vanessa can't go to prom with you," Chuck countered. It wasn't even in the realm of possibility. Nate was supposed to go with Blair. She was excited about it. Chuck might not have believed Blair's little flowery speech but he knew there was some truth to it. She was looking forward to the night, to winning Queen with Nate at her side.

"It's a free world," Nate countered. "Vanessa can go with whomever she wants."

"No she can't," Chuck repeated. Blair would be devastated to see all her plans crushed again.

"Why not?" Nate asked his friend, fixed him with a look.

"She already has a date," Chuck threw out with controlled desperation. He stared at Vanessa to communicate his intent.

"Who?"

"Me." Chuck answered with that steady jaw. His eye didn't even flinch with the lie.

"You're going to prom?" Nate asked. "With Vanessa?"

"Yes."

Nate turned his disbelieving eyes to Vanessa, waited for her confirmation. The brunette took only one look at Chuck and then mumbled her acceptance. Nate was floored, shocked enough to remain speechless. He opened his mouth more than once, tried to make some comment but in the end he just threw a few bills on the table and left.

"You didn't need to do that," Vanessa snapped as soon as the door closed. "I could have handled it myself."

"That's why you were creaming your panties at the mere suggestion." Chuck argued.

"I would have said no."

Chuck just snorted.

"I'm smarter than that!"

"You're one of the most intelligent women I've ever fucked," Chuck admitted. "But you are also _so_ _damn stupid_!"

"I am not!"

"You slept with me," Chuck dropped casually as he took the counter. Vanessa fished for a comeback but she didn't have anything to that. So she slammed a menu down instead.

"Temper, temper," Chuck said as he flipped it over. "You should be licking my boots not spitting hellfire onto them," He reminded her as he tossed the plastic coated sheet across the countertop. That killed Vanessa's anger. For a minute she'd almost forgotten what she'd done.

"Chuck, I…"

"Don't bother," Chuck rolled his eyes again and stood up again. "I've decided to let you kept your poorly worked biography."

Vanessa was struck speechless.

"It's what I came to tell you." Chuck gave her one last glare and started for the door.

"Why?" Vanessa asked before he'd made it ten steps.

"You're already too pathetic to notice," Chuck threw as he walked.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

When Blair suggested that she and Nate go over the checklist for prom she wasn't teasing. She literally had a checklist, a whole binder to be honest. It was filled with addresses, photographs, magazine clippings and even a few of her own sketches. She'd searched for the perfect gown for weeks but nothing satisfied. She knew why. She'd always expected to glide into the ballroom clad in a Waldorf original. It was another part of her dream that would never materialize so she'd contented herself with twisting a compromise. She'd put charcoal to paper, crafted the dress of her fantasies and worked with Amy Allen, the designer her mother had hand picked to set it to fabric. Despite the initial impression, Amy was turning out to be an excellent designer, credible enough that Eleanor Waldorf Design stock had begun to climb slowly upward again.

"It's beautiful," Nate said when he saw the sketch. Blair had started with the dress Chuck had shown her, the corset style top had the same pattern of beading, lines of silver interspersed with genuine pearls at the collar. It pulled tight through the waist before falling out into folds of silk. The waist was asymmetrical, one side of the corset staying tight to below the hip, eventually disappearing in a draping of silk. The other side started at the waist and fell dramatically away to the floor. It was part Grecian goddess, part demure temptress in competing shades of blue. The folds of silk were light blue to contrast with the navy bodice.

"It should be ready by tomorrow," Blair said as she shut the book. "Everything will be," She smiled contentedly. It didn't last long. She flipped the book open again. "I was thinking," She turned until she saw the photo of their rental. "Should be invite Kat and Is to join us? With their dates? It'll be pretty empty in the Hummer with just Serena, Dan, you and I."

"We could ask Chuck," Nate suggested.

Blair rolled her eyes. Was Nate actually that dumb? It's amazing he could manage shoes without Velcro. "Chuck isn't coming," she reminded him.

"I guess his changed his mind," Nate said knowingly.

"Really?" Blair perked right up. It relieved Nate almost as much as it bothered him. Blair being eager to pass him by almost made up for his stupid impulse that afternoon. At least he'd been thwarted from playing musical partners.

"He was talking about it," Nate explained. He paused just a moment before he said the rest. He paused because he knew, that was the moment he was selling his soul to have Blair. "We'd have to invite his date too."

"Date?"

"He's going with Vanessa." Nate said it with the same casualness he naturally conveyed. It wasn't casual though. He was watching Blair's reaction too intently to be nonchalant. "Chuck and she were talking about it at that coffee shop in Soho."

"And how do you know this?" Blair said dismissively. She was playing at not caring, at being unaffected but Nate knew. He might not have been the perceptive type but even he recognized Blair's signs: the throwing of the hair, the eyes that stayed a little too open and shoulders a little too straight.

"I was there," Nate enunciated every word as Blair's expression went fully dark. "Heard them myself."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was at a deadlock with Helga, Lewis' nanny. The woman was positively militant. "It's just one candy," Chuck held up the offending slip of green. Okay, so maybe there was a whole bag in the drawer but he'd start with one.

"Ms. Smith is adamant, no junk for her son."

"But she'd not even here," Chuck pointed out. Lewis was at another meeting with her lawyer, going over briefs. They'd finally scheduled a hearing for five weeks from now. Aidan let out a little whimper of protest from where he was curled to the nanny's chest. He never calmed easily when his mother was away. Maybe it wasn't for that though. His eyes were surprising alert for 8:00pm. They were fixated on the tiny frog Chuck was trying to offer, little fist sticking out towards it.

"It's past bedtime for Aidan," The nanny snapped and Chuck decided to give up. He'd learnt young that one couldn't reason with foreign nannies. "Say goodnight."

"Goodnight," Chuck threw the candy into his own mouth.

"Hug," The nanny held the child out. Aidan looked positively excited to be pushed towards the older boy. Maybe he didn't realize the candy was gone.

Chuck almost said no. He didn't want some wiggling brat in his arms but then the little tot smiled again and Chuck decided one hug wouldn't hurt. As long as no one saw it. The little boy was surprisingly light, clung to both of Chuck shoulders while he put an arm underneath to balance. He was warm too, tiny head curling easily beneath the older boy's.

"Chuck!" The angry voice stopped him from shutting his eyes. He turned to see Blair staring, nearly dropped Aidan in the rush to give him back to the nanny.

For a moment all that anger Blair had been feeling dissipated. A tiny smile lit her face to see Chuck holding such a small child, to be doing so with evident enjoyment. He was blushing. It was proof he knew it too. Then Helga disappeared with the youngest and Blair remembered why she was here. The anger rushed back.

Chuck stared at that face and winced. He knew it well. The narrowing of her eyes, the firmness of her lips that made her cheeks round the slightest above them, the intensity of that glare. Their interactions had been blissfully clear of it for weeks. It didn't make his own ire rise; he didn't have any anger at her. He felt a lot of things but not anger; that was all split between God and himself.

"I heard you're going to prom?"

Chuck didn't say anything. He just arched one brow in surprise.

"With Vanessa Abrams."

That brow arched further, met his thoughts somewhere in the middle. There was only one person that could have relayed such information. He couldn't say he was surprised but the blonde should have kept his mouth shut. Chuck's intent had been to foil Nate's. He hadn't intended to follow through with one of his own. Chuck still wasn't intending to go to prom.

"Is it true?" Blair asked.

Except maybe he should. He knew doing so would crack everything between them. Sometimes you get the right opportunities at the wrong times but sometimes you get the wrong opportunities at the right times. Chuck had both declarations on the tip of his tongue, the affirmation and the denial. He tried for that last bit of hope that could keep one tied. He measured everything he could. He compared the doctor's words to hers, his actions to his mother's. He thought about his mother and father, compared Bart's love to Blair's. He considered his father's strength to Blair's weakness. He knew the danger of history repeating. He'd been one bullet away from that conclusion already. What if there was a next time, without an Eric to pull him back. Where would that leave her? Where had it left Bart? His father hadn't lost just a wife; he'd lost everything with it. It had destroyed every meaningful relationship in the elder Bass' life. It'd taken years for some of them to trickle back. Others were likely still lost forever. It had ruined Bart and Bart had started out much stronger than Blair had ever been. He couldn't do the same to her.

"Chuck?" Blair prompted again and he took the deepest breath he could.

"Yes." Chuck swore despite his hammering chest.

"And why would you do that?" Blair asked.

"Because I want _her._" Chuck lied without looking away. He tried not to flinch while Blair's tears started. "I have for a long time," He added to it, finally broke with her eyes to stare at the cupboard behind. He didn't turn away until she was gone.

Blair actually slammed the front door on her way out. The sound echoed through the cavernous space and Chuck knew it must have been loud. It didn't feel that way. Nothing was as loud as the rushing in his ears, the trembling in his sides or the shattered pieces of his thoughts. For a brief moment he wondered if it was possible to fall dead but still be standing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate was studying the reflection of red and orange when he caught sight of her. The sun was dipping below the horizon, turning the pond at his feet to a rainbow of colours. It formed a scenic backdrop to her approach. Blair kicked the ground as she walked, hips swaying with the force of her movements. She didn't slow as she reached him, just pushed her hair back as their bodies collided. Her kisses were aggressive and Nate chose to close his eyes into them. He pretended the source was her realization, make believed that she finally recognized that he was the one she'd wanted all along. It was not only better than the truth but Nate was sure he could make into their truth.

He pressed his hand to the familiar curve of her back, traced every inch that he'd known for years. He could have felt guilty but he didn't. It was cruel but necessary. Chuck didn't want her and Nate wanted her so bad it hurt. It might not have been the honourable way to win her but he'd make it up later, work his way backwards into her heart with an adoration that his best friend could never offer.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It took only forty minutes for Eric and Damien to appear in the living room of the Bass compound. They walked as a matching pair, carting gifts as Serena and Chuck had done that morning. Chuck was reclined on the floor, back pressed to the sofa and eyes staring unblinking at the television. He barely moved when they entered and for a sickening moment they guessed he was drunk. Then he turned and they saw the red eyes, the puffiness around each and knew it was for a different reason. He looked away again quickly, embarrassment keeping his eyes to the blinking screen.

"Brownies," Eric held up one hand in offering.

"Ice cream," Damien held the other.

"Isn't that a bit girly?" Chuck tried to tease through the moment. It had to be. The masculine equivalent was scotch and cigars.

"You're the one wearing the pink shirt," Damien teased as he held up three spoons. Chuck was going to refuse on principal but Nate was right, he could rarely resist Chunky Monkey. So he grabbed a spoon and put his knowledge of physics to good use, balanced three portions full in a single scoop.

They'd played seven games of Rock Star before Eric finally put the reason for the visit before them. "I wouldn't worry about it," Eric said. The _it_ belonged to Nate and Blair. Their kisses had been publicized on Gossip Girl. Of course she would choose to kiss him in Central Park, in plain view of everyone. "There's yogurt in my fridge that will last longer than those two," Eric offered up with a toss of the microphone.

Chuck couldn't help but smile at the idea. His brother didn't understand though. This wasn't about Blair and Nate. "I hope they last forever," Chuck lied for the hundredth time. It was the first time he'd said the mantra aloud. He'd been practicing it in his mind, hoping that if he repeated it enough it might become truth.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N - I feel like this chapter needs the biggest disclaimer ever written so here goes. NB is my most detested of all GG couples but I'd always planned to write them in around the ending of this story because once upon a time this was supposed to be about N and his relationships with others (Chuck, Family, Blair and Vanessa) and about him finally growing up. Despite how much I loved the original timeline I almsot axed it because of how much I HATED the NB on the show (and the slaughter of NV). I'm not going to get into a rant about this at the moment but I've chosen to go according to plan. However, thanks to the gangrene it set in on the show I am going to spell it out for all my readers. Nate WILL NOT end up with Blair at the end of this story. I'd stab out both my eyes first. *Whew*_

_bluestriker - thank you very much!_

_Ingridmarie - Thank you so much. I"ll be sad to see this story end too, it'll be the end of an era (over a year of my life) but I'm excited about writing the blissful stuff after so many waves of angst._

_Brittykay - I promise that C will neither consider roof jumping or Russian Roulette ever again. _

_KatieKat - see above for C's depression. As for the wedding. I'll give this hint. It takes place four years in the future. You'll get a hint of everything that's happened since... one of our young couples will have pulled a Bart & Misty already, a different couple will have a toddler and a third will be expecting a child. So lots of aww moments. And after that they'll be a summary of their life forward given by an unlikely source._

_Lisa - Thanks :) I love E so much. The saddest thing is the thing I'm most excited about for S3 is E positively getting a storyline with his dad coming back._

_oc-journey - If Dan follows his promise no one will know he knows. You should be worried about N._

_Blair S. - I have to say I'm excited for LeB too, not quite as much as C though._

_Hiddenletter - Thank you. I'm so flattered by your praise._

_Annablake - I totally reflect your thoughts on the show now. I think I might spell out all my feelings but I'll do it after this story is finished. I'm trying to leave it to the side so that I can actually finish this._

_imchuckbass - thanks :)_

_SilkenBone922 - it'll still be more CB, even after this chapter._

_Up Next - Damien makes an appearance at St. Judes. He's not the only one busing over from Brooklyn but at least he's coming willingly. NB? Really...No...Really? Pardon me while I choke on these cookies, or puke them up :(  
_


	51. Chapter Twenty Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty – Part Two**

Blair wiped absently at her mouth as she sat on her bed. She tried to erase exactly what she had done, her impulse in kissing Nate. She couldn't erase it anymore than she could Chuck's words. So she wiped at her mouth, pulled at her hair and stared at the opposite wall. Her phone kept ringing. It was Nate. She tossed it under the largest pillow, pushed that pillow downward for good measure. Her hands shook when she drew them back so she pressed them under her crossed legs.

Nothing made sense. Chuck had hated Vanessa from the moment he met her. He called her names, was loathed to share even the same air. The best he'd even done was warm to her while she was dating Nate. How could he want her now? It was illogical. It was more than that; it was irrational, nonsensical, absurd, and even preposterous. Then again, so was the idea that Chuck would confide in Vanessa, that he would sleep with her. Well, okay maybe she could understand the sleeping together thing. But an honest confession of his past? That was ridiculous. It was worse than ridiculous. Chuck had always exclusively confided in her. Serena had chosen that fact as a proof of Chuck's love. She had told her that Chuck must love her because she knew so much, because he protected only her. Yet Chuck hadn't confessed to just her. He hadn't chosen to protect only her. So maybe there was an illogical truth to everything.

The anguish that welled up at the conclusion easily overwhelmed her. It was the terrifying type, the type that could swallow you whole. The type she always sought escape from. Blair had a pretty good idea where her thoughts were heading her. She'd taken the road hundreds of times before, sometimes slowly, others fast but always ending at the bottom of a hill that had to be climbed up again. She didn't want that anymore. So she pulled out her phone and texted Serena.

_**I need you now!**_

_**B**_

The beep sounded behind Blair's unopened door. It didn't remain closed for long, Serena peeked her head around the wood to find her friend sitting cross-legged on her sheets. "Please tell me this is photoshopped," Serena said as she held up her phone. It was set to the pictures of Nate and Blair. Even at a distance the sight was enough to restart Blair's tears. Serena tossed the phone on a dresser as she realized the true depth of Blair's distress, crossed the room and held her best friend close. "It's true then," Serena said. She'd leave the hows and whys for later. Blair shook her head. "Chuck is going to be pissed!"

"No he won't," Blair snapped after a forced breath.

"Bla…"

"He doesn't even want me," Blair admitted.

"Did he say that to you?"

"He did better than that. He told me who he wanted instead."

"What?" Serena had to sit back to make sense of that. "Who?" Blair relayed the entire story, Serena's disbelief spreading further with every word. "It doesn't make any sense," Serena pointed out.

"_Don't you think I know that already_?" Blair snapped with downcast eyes.

"He must be lying."

"And why would he do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe he is trying to keep you away."

Blair laughed sourly at the idea. "So _either way _he doesn't want me. Serena shut up at the logic. The best case scenario wasn't any better than the worst. Serena didn't know what to say so she just lay against the headboard, hugged her friend again, and rode out the storm with her. It pitched and rolled but by half hour later it was calm, controlled enough for the shorter girl to stare up at the taller. After thirty minutes Blair was done with feeling weak and undone. "How's Dan?" She threw out randomly. She tried to change her thoughts as she wiped her cheeks clean.

Serena could see the attempt for what it was. It almost made her laugh. "Dan is wonderful," She promised. "He's really been there for me."

Blair looked down a moment and Serena wished she'd chosen different words. "That's great!" Blair smiled. "You deserve to have everything perfect."

"He's not perfect," Serena actually laughed that time, gave her best friend a little shove until the brunette smiled too.

"Really?"

Serena thoughts went a little more contemplative. There was something that had been bothering her ever since she'd gotten back together with Dan. Something she hadn't been brave enough to ask. "I need to ask you something," She put out uncertainly.

"You can ask me anything."

Serena took a deep breath. "Did you ever have sex with Dan? While you were together?" Serena flinched as she waited for the answer, eyes shut and one lip curled in hesitation of it.

"What? No," Blair couldn't help the involuntary shudder. She'd very nearly forgotten those brief months of insanity.

"Really!" Serena grabbed her hands. "Like really, not once, never!"

"Didn't even consider it," Blair admitted.

"Oh thank God!" Serena leaned back against the bed, radiant smile overtaking her features.

"Nate's the only one we've shared," Blair pointed out sardonically.

Serena nodded. Her smile dipped a little with another realization. "Maybe you should have slept with Dan." She reconsidered. "Nate got so much better after you."

Blair nearly choked beside her. She stared straight into the sheets while her cheeks turned three shades of red. "I can't believe we're having this conversation," Blair began but then her thoughts turned. "Wait! Does that mean Dan isn't good, you know, at _it_?"

"The only thing he knows about a clitoris is how to spell it."

Blair couldn't help the giggles at that. She covered her mouth as they came spurting in rivers of amusement, temporarily chasing away any lingering depression.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Damien didn't even look up from his easel as Eric brought the courier envelope to him. He hadn't stood up when the doorbell sounded, asked Eric to sign when he'd been asked for. Damien just sat at his easel, tinkered with a new abstract work. He might not be discussing his thoughts aloud, but one look at the painting and Eric had a pretty good idea what his boyfriend was thinking. The truth was found in the total absence of yellow, or orange, or green; of any sign of life. It was explanation enough.

"Are you going to open it?" Eric asked.

"I already know what's in it," Damien explained. "It's a plane ticket for the funeral."

"When is it?"

"Doesn't matter," Damien added another stroke of black. "I'm too busy. My show is closing this week."

"And you've been here for every week, even the extras."

"An artist should be."

"Can you just stop pretending?" Eric asked.

"I'm not."

"I know you were close to your brother."

"Once upon a time…" Damien dragged the brush through red.

"It's enough to go to the funeral."

"Honestly," Damien put the brush aside and stared at his boyfriend. "I don't see the point. Why would I want to celebrate a life that was mostly a waste?"

"For that parts that weren't."

"You know my parents even want me to write a speech," Damien turned even harder as he stood. "So I asked them, what should I write about? How Tom _outed_ me to my _extended_ family over _Christmas_ dinner? Or _maybe_ that time when he and his drug buddy friends, on a lark, shot me up while I was sleeping_._ Or _maybe_ I could open with how he slept with my first girlfriend when I was thirteen," Damien's harder edge dulled a bit over that. "Okay, so that last one didn't bother me as much once I realized I was gay."

"What about the rest?" Eric asked. "There must have been better times." There had to be. Why else would Damien have tattooed guardian wings on his back? Why would he have cared that much about his brother?

"Just give it up Eric," Damien threw out. "I'm not going!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"How about this one?" Vanessa grabbed the first dress she could reach on entering the shop. It was one of those fancy boutiques on the Upper East Side. The kind she didn't shop in and, after a quick survey of the space, didn't want to. So she grabbed the first dress because she wanted this experience to be over before it started. After a closer look she'd actually chosen well. It was a rich purple, straight with a collared neck, simple until you turned. The back was covered in hundreds of dyed strings that spread from the apex of the neck to the small of the back. They were shades of green and black, coloured to resemble a peacock's feathers. It was intriguing.

"I think not," Chuck grabbed it back, hung it on the rack again.

"Why not?"

"Chuck Bass will not be embarrassed by a last season half price special."

Vanessa took a look at the tag. The price was indeed crossed through. That wasn't the part that made her swallow hard; it was the number of zeros even in the sale price. "I don't think…"

"It's a good thing I'm not expecting you to."

"Mr. Bass," The salesclerk greeted him by name. She was tall with blonde hair, a lot like Lily but older. "This is the young woman?"

"Yes. Can you help me beat the Bohemian out of her?" Chuck said as he crossed his arms.

The associate looked Vanessa up and down, arched one brow in what was probably revulsion. "I'm sure we can find _something_."

"I don't want to do this," Vanessa nearly gave up at that, started for the door. Chuck pulled at her arm before she made it two steps, closed a fist around it and her.

"Four weeks of a fake boyfriend," Chuck reminded her. "Four years of film school. It should be an easy choice."

It was. But easy choices weren't always easy to follow through with. Vanessa took one deep breath and stood straight again. Chuck relinquished her arm. "Why are you doing this?" She asked as Chuck handed another dress to the sales associate to usher to the back.

"Not your business," Chuck snapped as he held up a hand, indicated that Vanessa should follow the clerk. She did, disappeared into a fitting room with the blonde in tow. Chuck took a seat in an overstuffed ivory chair. It fit the ambience and Chuck could have been entertained to be there. He had been in the past. Except then it hadn't been in accompaniment of Vanessa Abrams. Vanessa stepped out in the first dress. She made no attempt to be excited; she simply padded with an almost masculine gait and stood hunched over. "Stand up straight!" Chuck barked and she did. The first was a princess-style gown in rich blue. Her waifish figure disappeared somewhere beneath it. Chuck rolled his eyes while the clerk shook her head. "Next!" She shuffled into the following number. It was a gold piece, off the shoulder with a straighter cut. It complimented her figure better than the first. Chuck gave her another unimpressed look. "Next!"

"No," Vanessa stood straight, crossed her arms in front of the beaded bodice. "I want to know why you're doing this first!"

"Don't make this take any longer than necessary."

"I know you don't want to go to prom with me."

"I don't want to go at all," Chuck corrected.

"Then explain to me why you're doing this because it doesn't make any sense," Vanessa insisted.

"It doesn't concern you."

"I know that you are in love with Blair," Vanessa pointed out and Chuck's face went even darker. It didn't unnerve her the same way it might have a year before. "You should be going to prom with her."

"I can't be with Blair," Chuck snapped a little too hard to be casual.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Not everything makes sense!" Chuck ripped further, but his eyes betrayed him, turned away for long enough to disprove him.

"Chuck," Vanessa tried again. "Why don't you just tell me what this is about?"

"Looking for fodder for a sequel," He snapped back. It made her shut up. She couldn't expect him to be honest. "Put the gold dress on the Bass account," Chuck asked the clerk with one final unfavourable look. He stood up, smoothed out the lapel of his suit and started to leave.

"You really think Blair is going to believe this?" Vanessa ran a hand along the length of her gown. "You buy me a dress; take me to prom and what?"

Chuck turned back to consider. The hobo had a point. He handed his phone to the clerk and instructed her to snap a photograph. Then he leaned in towards Vanessa.

"What are you doing?" Vanessa asked as she inched away.

"I'm kissing you," Chuck explained. "And you're going to like it." He finished as he brushed her lips. Vanessa couldn't wipe the disgusted look from her face as he pulled back. He didn't care. He had one to match. He eyed the photo the saleswoman handed back to him. "It's a good thing you aspire to a life _behind_ the camera." Chuck shook his head at the image but pushed the buttons on his phone regardless.

"Chuck!" Vanessa screeched as he texted Gossip Girl. "You can't fabricate something between us."

"I'm Chuck Bass," He reminded her. "I can do anything I want. In fact," His smirk darkened. "You're going to bring me something at school on Monday." She squirmed at the thought. He enjoyed her humiliation. Payback was a bitch!

"What?"

"I don't know," Chuck admitted. "Some kind of gift. You're from the South. Come up with something home grown."

"I'm from Vermont!"

"Whatever." Chuck said indifferently. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and strolled away.

"I don't want to do this," Vanessa finally begged, voice almost dropping to a whine that showed how much she meant it.

"Haven't you figured it out yet," Chuck was unmoved. "_I own you_."

Vanessa stared at the floor after his words, burned a tiny hole to be honest. She'd finally caught all the Bass rage, just two days later than she'd expected.

"Would you like the dress bagged or boxed ma'am?"

Vanessa shut her eyes. "Box."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Damien waited until Eric had given up to touch the packet his boyfriend left behind. It was narrow, covered in red and blue patterned cardboard that shined under the lamplight. Eric had left it on the kitchen counter. Damien delayed the instinct to pick it up until he heard the shower. He knew Eric was right. Perhaps he'd been hasty, irrational even in his decision. He missed home. This was a chance to go back, to see his mother and father and other brothers. He'd been in New York for nearly a year without a return trip. He missed everything.

It didn't have to be about Tom at all. That justification had him ripping the packet. Two tickets and a set of keys fell to the table, clatter and shuffle combining with Damien's surprise. When he opened the flaps of both tickets, that surprise turned to delight. One was in his name but the other was in Eric Van der Woodsen's.

"Have you reconsidered?" Eric asked as he emerged with dampened hair.

Damien stared at both tickets and decided he had. "I'm willing to go," He spoke into the slate and then turned. "If you come with me." Damien held the tickets up. "If we go for ten days and you spend it all getting to know my family."

"You want me to meet your family?" Eric was dumbstruck. They'd never discussed that.

"Of course," Damien shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair nearly ignored the text. She'd been ignoring Nate for a day already, playing hide and seek through the Upper East Side. She could have played for days more but she knew, if she didn't meet him that morning then he'd accost her between classes, stop her in the courtyard and she wanted to contain this now. It was Monday morning; he was waiting at a street corner halfway to school. They used to walk together, years ago, just because they could.

He was dressed to perfect standard, usual rumples pressed straight, broad shoulders disappearing beneath the navy of his uniform jacket. He was standing with a bouquet of lilies in one hand, and Blair watched the line of females admire him as they passed, hoping they could be the one he'd put the flowers to. And yet Blair didn't even want him. Except she kind of wished she could, be one of those airy females whose eyes followed him through every crowd. It was surely a simpler existence. Nate caught sight of her shortly after she turned the corner, his neutral expression turning into a brighter smile. She slowed her approach as he walked towards her, tried to formulate her thoughts. He had the flowers in her hands before she could. "Listen Blair," Nate started before the refusal could come. "I'm not dumb. I know why you kissed me the night before last. I know why you were conveniently unavailable yesterday."

Blair didn't deny the assumptions. She looked at the flowers in her hands instead, lost her eyes in the collection of white so she didn't have to face the truth. "So why did you bring me flowers?"

"For the same reason I bought you all those gifts. I can't give up hope you will kiss me, eventually, for the right reasons."

"Nate," Blair started to shake his head but he forced a smile.

"I'm not expecting it today," Nate promised, "or tomorrow either."

Blair tried to warn him off hoping but the words didn't form. It was nice to be wanted.

"We could start simple," Nate suggested. "Have dinner…" He continued and she started to shake her head again. He backtracked. "I could finish walking you to school," He offered instead. Blair took a look at his arm and after a further moment of hesitation, slipped her own through it. His smile was radiant but her's was longer in forming. She didn't smile until they'd walked two blocks, until the gates to Constance/St Judes were in sight. Then she found something endearing in his rambles, remembered that his dimples truly were beautiful. She smelled the lilies and remembered how many years of simplicity they'd amassed before the fall.

Chuck caught the sight as they entered, wanted to look right away but he couldn't. He watched them instead, masochistic streak demanding full attention. "I thought you were supposed to feel good inside," Chuck said to his brother Eric. "When you do the right thing."

"You do feel good when you do the right thing," Eric answered. "When you do the stupid thing, that's when you feel the way you do now."

Chuck turned to his brother at the insult. He saw something he had never seen before. Eric's disappointment was so clearly show. It was in the way his younger brother tossed his bag against the other leg and walked away with a shake of his head.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan's eyes scoured the coffee shop as the bell announced his entrance. Vanessa was talking with a young couple on one side, smiling at the small baby they held between them. Dan waited while she cooed, let his eyes graze over the rest of the space while she finished. He caught someone else on the final rotation. It made one lip curl in amusement. "Dan," Vanessa smiled at her best friend as she made her way back towards him.

"That guy is back?" Dan pointed out with a nod towards Adam. He was in the back corner again, this time focussed on a novel nearly as long as the table itself.

"Yeah," Vanessa admitted. Adam, almost as if he knew he was being talked about, looked up. It lasted only a moment before he turned back down to the page. It was enough to make Vanessa bite her lip.

"Has he said anything to you yet?"

"He always says hi and bye. And he talks a lot when I ask him questions."

"Impressive!" Dan said mockingly. "Or creepy." The guy had been there every day that week. "Stalker creepy."

"No," Vanessa refuted. "I mean we know each other."

"What do you even know about him?"

"I know his films are incredible," Vanessa smiled. "You should watch them, every part from the framing to the dialogue. The characters are amazing, and every action and reaction so organic and natural."

"Fan girl much?" Dan teased.

"It's not like that," Vanessa assured him. "He's just really brilliant."

"I didn't think that was your type," Dan teased. It earned him a slap.

"I don't like him that way."

"Because he's too smart?" Dan teased further. It earned him another slap before Dan shifted to his purpose in coming. "I'm thinking your crush on creepy stalker boy…"

"He's not creepy!"

"On creepy stalker boy answers the question that brought me here," Dan finished as he pushed his phone on the table. It was open to the photo of her and Chuck. Vanessa could only stare at the snapshot for a moment without rolling her eyes. "Are you going to explain to me what this is?"

"I can't talk about it," Vanessa tried to start back for the counter.

"Vanessa. It's Dan!" He called in singsong.

"I really can't talk about it."

"I know you don't like Chuck," Dan pushed further. "You _don't_ like Chuck do you?"

"_I absolutely love Chuck Bass_!" The declaration was lathered in sarcasm from beginning to end.

"So why would you let him kiss you? Let him buy you a dress?"

"I'm going to prom with him," Vanessa explained.

Dan started with a double take that ended in a random shaking. "Excuse me!"

"Don't ask."

"I did already." Dan pulled himself onto a stool. "You need to explain yourself _now_!"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll tell Serena and she'll tell Blair."

Dan hesitated at that, put both hands on the counter and realized the place it would put him into. It didn't matter. "Just tell me this. Why did he kiss you?"

"Because I'm his girlfriend," Vanessa tried a smile. It failed miserably.

"That's crazy!" Dan said. Vanessa tried to run away but he caught her arm. He stared at her even while her eyes flickered. He stared until she broke. She always did. He was her closest friend.

"He wants Blair to think that he's fallen for me."

"That's crazier!"

"Please, you can't tell anyone about it." Vanessa begged. "If you do then he's going to make sure I lose my scholarship." Dan shook his head in disgust. The pity he'd started to feel for Chuck washed away with this new low. "Please, just don't tell anyone okay?" Vanessa pleaded as she took his hand. "Promise me you won't."

Dan gave it a squeeze, shook his head in agreement.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was listening contentedly to a conversation entirely in French when Nate was announced. He was perched outside the kitchen when his friend spoke, waved him quiet as the greeting came. Chuck was more interested in the string of _non_ than anything Nate might have to say. He could hear Lewis pace as she talked, the shuffle of her sneakers across the tile same as every other night at 5pm. It was as much amusing as comforting. Chuck needed the reassurance after his father and Lewis had exchanged their easy camaraderie for awkwardness. It was natural. They just needed to get past the whole _I know what your orgasm face looks like_ discomfort.

"Who is she talking to?" Nate whispered.

"Henri," Chuck couldn't help the little stab of revulsion from sneaking in. "It's her French ex-fiancée."

"He's in New York?"

"He will be next week," Chuck explained. "He's been calling every night since I've been here."

"That's persistent."

"Have you seen what she looks like?"

Nate joined his best friend is listening in, had to hold back the laughter at all the same cues. Chuck was impressed. He didn't realize Nate's French was good enough to follow words spoken that fast, nevermind fill in the missing half of a conversation. They both listened until the _salut_ and then fled to the living room.

"He's going down hard!" Nate said.

"Like the Plains of Abraham! The English have all but taken North America." Chuck smirked contentedly as he sat, crossed one leg over the other before he remembered who he was talking to. Then the foot bounced against the opposite knee. Chuck didn't have anything to say to the blonde and Nate, well, he was trying to formulate the words.

"I came to apologize," Nate started. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused between you and Blair," Nate lied. "I know how important her _friendship_ is to you. I wouldn't have said anything about Vanessa if I didn't think you'd have told her already."

"It's fine."

"I would never have done that on purpose," Nate lied again and something strange happened halfway through. It got easier, the words came more naturally, the guilt started to disappear altogether.

"I know you wouldn't," Chuck placated.

"I wouldn't want to lose either of you." Nate promised. "But I think we can all work it out."

"Nate…some things…"

"We're all going to have dinner together," Nate said. "I called up Blair and Vanessa and they agreed to go to my Regatta evening next week."

"Wait!" Chuck stared at the blonde. "You did _what_?"

"I figure if everyone gets together, then we'll figure a way to sort everything out, to make everything work."

"Nate…I don't think…"

"I'll text you the details," Nate said with a look at his watch. "My dad's expecting me, gotta run."

Chuck stared at his best friend leave with a mixture of dread and annoyance. Nate truly was stupid. He grabbed his cell and scrolled until he found Vanessa somewhere in the long list of contacts. "What the hell did you do?" He yelled when she picked up.

"What?"

"With Nate."

"What I thought a _fake_ girlfriend would," Vanessa snapped right back.

"A _fake _girlfriend would show up at her _fake _boyfriend's school when the _fake _boyfriend asked her to!" Chuck bit right back.

"I'll be there tomorrow," Vanessa cursed before slamming the phone down.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric paced the floors of the Bedford Galleries, formed a few more mental pictures of Damien's first showing before the paintings were unhung, sculptures put to boxes and space cleared through. It had been a success from opening, small crowd still lingering in the halls these last few days. He felt the nostalgia, the way he and Damien had fought placement of every piece. Eric usually won. He was hard to out argue. Eric stood near the café as he took a final broad stroke of the entire exhibit. It was the beginning of something. The accolades could have set the opinion but Eric hadn't relied on them. He'd known it from first sight.

Eric heard the voices as he turned to the right. They were coming from within the café; one deeper and the other feminine. It made his chin clench, first instinct to barge in and yell at his mother. He couldn't though. She'd promised to neither marry Rufus nor bring him to the apartment. Meeting him in Brooklyn was outside the sphere of his influence. So Eric chose to walk away, or at least he would have until he heard what they were discussing.

"I'm afraid he might not come back," Lily explained.

"You can't be serious! Eric is the most responsible boy I've ever known."

"He's back to staying with Damien at the loft. And now travelling with him to England. I'd feel better if I went with them."

Eric nearly coughed aloud at the thought. Was this the same mother who let her eldest travel with abandon?

"He's only sixteen." Lily said. "That's kind of young to be travelling with one's lover unchaperoned."

"I don't think he'd want his mother to join him," Rufus pointed out.

"I'm just really uncomfortable with the entire situation."

"I'm sure Damien is more. It's his brother that died after all."

"I know it sounds selfish," Lily admitted. "But I'd rather he didn't go."

"Would it really make a difference if you went?" Eric winced as he waited for his mother to say it would. She never got the chance, Rufus kept talking instead. "There might be someone else who'd be better."

"Who?"

"Serena," Rufus suggested. "You said yourself how worried you are about a modelling career, with the drugs and all. It might be a good wake up call for her to attend the funeral of some who has overdosed."

Eric's entire face went blank at his shock. Had Rufus Humphrey actually suggested something useful? Eric stood up straighter as he considered it himself. It might just have been brilliant.

"I…" His mother began but Eric was in the room before she could finish.

"I agree with Mr. Humphrey," Eric offered from beside the door, tilt of deference to the older man.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa was standing at the front gate, bouncing awkwardly on her flat sandals while the crowd of students grew around her. The bell for lunch had rung, filling the courtyard and every available space. Vanessa passed the paper bag she was holding to her left hand and used the right to text Chuck. She wasn't staying any longer than she had to. The younger girls were starting to form a critical group around her. They were staring at her purple tank and faded jeans and Vanessa knew, if she lingered any longer, they'd start putting to words what their sneers already implied.

"Vanessa!" The deep voice brought out her smile, as wide and fake as a child's on entering the dentist's chair. The one that said, _no cavities, no cavities, no cavities_.

"Chuck!" She widened that grin until the entire courtyard could see proof that she's never had one.

"What did you bring me?" He teased in that low tone and she stuffed the bag out, smile temporarily cracking. It was restored with half the enthusiasm.

"I baked you cookies," She tried to match his low tone with a sultry one of her own. It sounded more sleepy than sexy. She needed practice.

Chuck couldn't help the brow that dropped, smirk being replaced by an unamused glower. He pressed close to her before everyone else could see it. "You baked me cookies?"

"Cranberry oatmeal," She whispered back with a tap on his shoulder.

"I said home _grown_," He whispered angrily into her ear. "Not home _values_. Next time try lingerie." Before she could counter he kissed her lightly on the cheek and, putting a hand down to her behind, gave her a shove towards the other side of the gate. Vanessa didn't break her stride as she tripped forward, was gone before Chuck made it back to the picnic table. Their crowd had one notable absence, Nate had yet to appear. It allowed Chuck to sit first, toss the brown paper bag to the center. He shouldn't have tried to mix fake relationships with loathed enemies. They weren't exactly making a good show of things.

"How come you didn't invite Vanessa to join us?" Blair asked.

"She has to be at work," Chuck lied. He opened the bag and poked through, pulled out one of the cookies and wondered if he needed to eat it to prove anything. He hated oatmeal.

"She baked you cookies?" Blair asked in a sort of muted voice. Chuck tossed the offering back into the brown paper.

"Yeah," Chuck tried to smile, tried to look at Blair and play the game. He couldn't. "Have one if you want," He suggested as he stood, grabbed at his shoulder bag. Why was he even sitting with her anymore? It made everything too complicated. "I've got a couple things to do," He excused as he fled.

Serena knew what was about to happen probably before Blair did. It was in the way the brunette studied the slip of brown, eyes unflinching. It was the temptation it offered, the opportunity to quite literally throw up her problems. She had one in her mouth before Serena could use words to stop her. So the blonde just watched in dread as Blair bit into it, too fast to properly chew, face devoid of any real enjoyment. Serena watched her best friend slip to that side but grabbed the bag before Blair could progress to a second. Blair reached for them anyway. Serena retreated by pushing them all into Nate's hands as he arrived, warning eyes never wavering from her best friend's face. In a moment the impulse was gone, Blair's eyes turning clear again and breathing returning to a more natural rhythm. Serena wasn't the only Van der Woodsen to see it. For a moment Eric saw red, anger dragging his thoughts to scarlet. For a moment he was up and ready to follow his brother, to yell until he knocked some sense into the older boy. He didn't make it far.

"Eric!" The familiar voice caught him within a step. It was Damien and he was strolling indolently across the courtyard, crowds of students following his every movement. It wasn't surprising. The Brit was clad in a pair of faded jeans, ripped across one thigh and encircled by a union jack belt. The black ribbed tank fit snugly to his narrow waist, familiar shark tooth necklace in place again. To complete the look Damien had added a twisting of leather to one arm, thin black string that was patterned out and then affixed. He pushed his sunglasses back as he reached the table, arrogant amusement never leaving his face. "Tough crowd," Damien offered to his boyfriend after a stare at the onlookers.

Eric smirked in return, amusement sparked for a different reason. "Were those jeans even ripped last week?" He teased. It made Damien blush temporarily.

"What good is attending a pretentious prep school if you can't cause a little disturbance now and again?" Damien finished with a light shove of his boyfriend. The gossip intensified and Damien rolled his eyes. "I've brought your new tickets," He said as he produced three. "Damien Allenby," He read the first and then returned it to his back pocket. "Serena Van der Woodsen," He read the second and passed it to the blonde. "Eric Van der Woodsen," He offered the third.

"Cookie?" Nate offered the bag and the last two remaining. Damien took one and Nate the other. Damien took a bite and then put the rest on the table but Nate was far more impressed. "These are really good! Vanessa used to make ones like this for me."

"Those are Vanessa's," Blair pointed out. It made Nate choke on his last bite, cough until Damien gave him a hard slap on the back. "She made them for Chuck."

Nate recovered his breathing, replaced a panicked face with a disturbed one. They didn't comment on it. They didn't comment on Blair's scowl or the building of red in Eric's enraged cheeks. Instead they tried small talk with Damien as he moved to sit. He got only one foot over before the bell rang.

"Always a little too late," Damien shrugged his shoulders.

"Just don't be late tonight."

"You should probably meet me in the departure lounge," Damien admitted. "I have a few things to take care of before I leave." Eric's eyebrows narrowed at that, he probably would have questioned him but Damien spoke again before he could. "So do I get to kiss you now?" Damien teased with another look outward. "Or will I set off a flash mob?"

Eric saw what he did. It didn't make him cower; just made him arch one brow in challenge. "Mobs can be fun."

They didn't go for the scandalous, didn't need to make out to prove themselves. It was just a short peck, barely a brushing of lips, no tongue needed. It was enough to set off at least a dozen camera phones. The clicks just made the boys laugh as they pulled back. It was so different from the year before. There was no cowering behind parked cars, eyeing right and left to keep a secret. Eric ran a hand down his boyfriend's face. It just felt right. He smiled one more time as he grabbed his bag from the picnic table, threw it over one shoulder and started towards the door. He made it three steps before he realized Damien was following him. "Are you walking me to class?" Eric mocked.

"Are you in Kindergarten?" Damien scoffed right back. "Do you need me to hold your hand?" They both laughed before Damien explained. "I've got to meet Chuck."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan had a good ten step lead on her but Serena ran ahead, caught his arm before he could enter the boy's building. "Dan! We need to talk." Dan gave the hall one last lingering look, and then stepped away from the rest of rushing crowd. He had a pretty good idea what they'd be talking about.

"Can it wait until after school?" He tried to evade.

"Has Vanessa talked to you about what's going on between her and Chuck?" Dan tried to deny it but he was never good at lying. Somewhere in the middle his lips turned up empty, and proved the truth. "What did she say?"

"I can't talk about it," Dan admitted.

"What does that mean?"

"Vanessa doesn't want me to talk about her and Chuck."

Serena crossed her arms at that. Was this the same boy who had less than a week ago professed that complete and total honesty was the only way? Her eyebrows arched at his hypocrisy. "So that's it?"

"I want to talk to you about it but I promised Vanessa I wouldn't."

Serena's arms crossed a little harder. "I guess that flowery speech about openness was just for me," She finished as she turned away, marched the short divide to the Constance side.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was already waiting in Queller's office when Damien entered it. His legs stretched out from the beige sofa to one side, hands reclined idly down the leather. He'd done his part months ago. Chuck stood as the headmistress did, smirked from behind her at Damien's chosen attire. "Ms. Queller," Chuck nodded his head first to staff. "Mr. Damien Allenby," He nodded his head at the other.

"So this is Damien Allenby," She put out a hand and the younger boy shook it. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person," She started, then took one look at his jeans and added "mostly." It didn't stop her from indicating the free chair beside her desk.

"I can't thank you enough for taking care of this personally," Damien offered but the older woman just gave a wave back.

"For Eric Van der Woodsen," She pushed papers back and forth on her desk. "St. Judes would do anything."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Despite the mediocrity of Tuesdays the Bass house was remarkably quiet. There was no patter of children's feet, no laughter, even the scent of dinner had yet to be started. The servant still waved Eric forward, directed him to the living room where Chuck sat with both legs running the length of the floor. He had his homework strewn from one side of the coffee table to the other; colour coded as Blair had taught him, checklist of procedures his father had trained him to keep. It figured. He had a priceless desk in his room, an expansive one in his father's office but Chuck preferred to sit on a carpet and write on a coffee table. "Aren't you supposed to be at the airport?" Chuck asked

"I still have an hour or so," Eric said with a look at his watch. They were taking an overnight flight. "Before I need to meet Serena and Damien."

"How is Damien doing?" Chuck asked as he shut his physics textbook.

"He's _fine_," Eric said the first nonchalantly. "_Fine_," It turned emphatic. "_Fine_," It twisted to irritated and "_fine_" ended in aggravated. He mirrored his boyfriend's assurances, from the ones that were followed by a lazy shrugging of shoulders to the few that ended in outright scowls.

"So that means?"

"I'm just waiting for the cataclysmic meltdown."

"Maybe if you…"

"I didn't come here to discuss that," Eric interrupted his brother. "I came here to discuss _you_." Chuck didn't have a response to that so he shut his notebook, took his time in returning his belongings to the red and blue schoolbag. "And _Blair_."

"There isn't much to discuss."

"With me…no," Eric agreed. "With Blair…everything. You need to talk to her."

"I think it'd better if we don't talk anymore."

"That's neither true nor possible with you two."

"Just let it go," Chuck asked. It's what he was trying to.

"I can't. You really hurt her this time."

"She'll get over it," Chuck promised. "It's better it happens now, when she's not as invested."

"She's already heavily invested!" Eric's voice started to rise. He tried to keep it neutral but his emotions were starting to get pulled harder in two directions. He might love Chuck like a brother but he'd always cared for Blair as a sister. The second bond had only been restrengthened by the first, by their shared concern.

"It's the right choice," Chuck promised. He wouldn't go over the reasons again. He'd already explained them to his brother once.

Eric shook his head. He was as unmoved now as he had been the night before. "I could have respected your decision," Eric decided. "I might not have agreed but I could have respected it if you'd been upfront with Blair."

"That's not possible."

"_But juvenile game playing is_?" Eric shook his head disapprovingly. "Why are you doing this? It's beneath both of you!"

Chuck clipped his bag, ran a finger down the yellow piping. "_I don't know_," He admitted the moment his hand met his face, rubbed instinctively at his chin.

"You need to sit her down, have a long conversation…"

"You don't think I've tried?" Chuck finally looked up, met his brother's firm eyes with hopeless ones. "I've tried," Chuck promised. "Not just now, _so many times!_ Years worth but I just can't. The words get stuck inside _every single time_, and then I just…" He shook his head. "I always end up grabbing at random shit to fill the silence." Chuck brought the hand back to his mouth as the words ceased. Viewed like that, sequentially, remembering every time he screwed honesty up, it made him wonder; what had made him _that_ defective?

"You need to figure out a way to do it," Eric couldn't excuse his brother this time. "Because if you don't, then I'm going to do it for you."

That made Chuck put his hand down, stare up at his brother, one eyebrow showing the force of his surprise. Would Eric really do that? The youngest Van der Woodsen prided himself on being the observer, the voice of reason. He chose to sit back rather than interfere, let the people he loved make mistakes in sequence, offering only enough advice to subtly direct them back onto the straight and narrow. He didn't push into the middle of problems or force anyone down any road they weren't ready to transverse themselves.

"Look deep inside," Eric advised. "Find a way to solve it yourself!"

Chuck tried. He stared at his phone for a long time after Eric had gone, never managing more than three numbers in sequence. He didn't understand why it was so terrifying. He'd put it to words for Eric already. Why was it so different with Blair? Why did he revert to games, hide behind words that were always more hurtful than kind, a masochistic streak that spread from inside to taint everyone else. Why did it take only three numbers for him to be right back at the beginning, trying to force words that just couldn't come? Why was he so flawed that he almost wanted Eric to tell her, just to save him this moment. He forced himself to four when the phone rang, Seattle area code proving that Chuck couldn't will Blair to call either. "Jack," Chuck greeted his uncle.

"Chuck," The return greeting was softer, more hesitant. It made Chuck nervous, though not as nervous as the following words. "We might have a problem."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I can't believe you're wearing this again," Serena laughed at she pulled at her friend's charm bracelet. The two girls were sitting at Socialista, circle of drinks attempting to wash away the day they'd both had. Serena was due on a flight in less than four hours but they both needed this first. Most of all Serena needed to know her friend would be alright while she was gone. "Oh my," Serena dangled a little platinum thong between her fingertips. "Do you remember the trip to Barcelona?"

"I can't believe you convinced me to wear that!" Blair shook her head.

"I can't believe those three Spaniards followed us into the café."

"After I'd covered my assets," Blair laughed.

Serena flipped through more, pieces of their history together, mementos of trips or moments of history, both good and bad. Serena had given her a tiny hurricane the week Blair's mom had filed for divorce. It fit. The Eleanor Waldorf meltdowns came five times a day at their peak. Serena flipped through everything they'd survived together. She progressed beyond her collection to the boys, stopped on a very familiar key. "What are you doing with a copy of Chuck's key to 1812?" Serena asked as she held the tiny piece of metal up. Blair stared down, realization coming at least two years after it probably should have. "Wow," Serena turned the charm from side to side. "This is an exact replica. It even has the tiny band of copper to replace the broken inner circle. It's what made his different from the spare he made Eric and I share."

"Chuck gave it to me," Blair explained.

"I didn't think you were wearing this while you two were together."

"He gave it to me when he was fourteen," Blair admitted. She touched the key as her best friend let it go. It formed that familiar patter again, the unanswered questions and the building up of anticipation for their answers. She could have taken a tiny slip of platinum and crafted an entire story behind it.

"Wow…that's…"

Blair chose to unclip the charm instead. She tossed it into her half full martini glass and held it up for the waitress. "Nothing," Blair promised as she ordered a new drink. Serena watched it go, looked back to her best friend in unspoken disbelief. "I'm done," Blair promised.

"You can't mean that."

"I always knew Chuck was a puzzle." Blair arched her brow. "I was just stupid enough to think the pieces fit together."

"Really?"

"I don't need someone like that dragging me down into hell again," Blair said as she squared her chin, took her new drink with unnecessary flourish.

"You're really done? With everything?"

"There are only six more weeks of high school," Blair said between a sip of cranberry. "Six more weeks of Chuck, and Vanessa, and Nate. Then I can leave it all behind. I'm going to _university_. I can take with me only those people I want to," Blair finished with a squeeze of her best friend's hand."

"You're done with Nate too?"

Blair hesitated only a moment, and then arched her brow again with the truth. "I don't trust him. No matter how much he wants me to."

"Then," Serena raised her glass. "To fresh slates," Serena chimed it to her best friend's. "And best friends," Serena started over the next sip. "Who will always be there for you, no matter the hour you need them," She finished the statement with a fixed stare, forced Blair to shake her head before they chimed again. When the brunette did the blonde could finally relax. Serena finished her margarita in three more sips and grabbed her purse. She had a plane to catch.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Final boarding call for British Airways flight 182 to London-Heathrow." The speaker chimed and Eric kicked his feet higher on his duffle bag. The runners formed an indent to one side. His sister was beside him, stilettos keeping a rhythm on the floor. Her bag was tossed on the chair beside her, initially to keep a space for Damien but later to fend off potential suitors. Eric checked his watch. It was ten minutes after ten already and their flight was due in the air in less than twenty minutes. Their section was empty, rest of the travelling public having long since boarded. The attendant was walking to them when Serena put the question out.

"Shall we head home?" Serena suggested. What else could they do? There wasn't much point in flying to London without Damien in tow.

Eric gave his duffle a little kick. He'd predicted that his boyfriend would have a meltdown and disappearing an hour before his flight departed certainly qualified. Eric just wished it could have been a smaller eruption, sometime _after_ they landed in England. "Guess so," Eric put his feet to the carpet, bent to pick his bag when he heard his voice screamed through the crowds.

Damien was running as fast as he could, dodging travellers with a hand out to deflect. He hadn't changed from that afternoon; tiny beads of sweat proving how late he truly was. The attendant reached them as Damien did. The Brit pushed his ticket into her rounded hands. "I'm always late," He explained with the most disarming smile he could manage. She took his ticket and turned, leading the three teenagers to a set of glass doors.

"You had at least another ten seconds," Eric teased as he fell into step behind his boyfriend.

Damien returned a smile of his own, found the younger boy's hand as they stepped into the long walkway and held onto it for dear life.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair was exhausted. She kicked her shoes off at the door, left them for Dorota to manage, let her arches sink into the cool marble. She'd been gone since seven o'clock that morning, running on a fever of emotions until she'd hugged her best friend goodbye. Now she needed sleep. She pulled the headband from her curls, rubbed at her neck while she walked.

"Miss. Blair," Dorota was out of the kitchen before Blair reached the stairs.

"Good evening Dorota," Blair smiled.

"Wait," the maid called out as Blair started up the staircase. "There is package for you."

"A good one?" Blair asked first.

"Very good," Dorota grabbed the manila envelope from the side. "From Yale," She offered it up.

Blair rediscovered a surge of energy, bounced down the few stairs she'd climbed up. She smiled once she realized. "It's the fall catalogue," She knew before she ripped it open, before the booklet fell into her hands. She'd be registering for her future soon. It's like God put it into her hands that night, to reaffirm her earlier decisions.

Or maybe to screw with them once more! There, right on the cover of the Yale catalogue, framed by Vanderbilt Hall and surrounded by a half dozen other members of his elite, was Charles Bartholomew Bass.

Blair screamed at the top of her lungs. In that moment there wasn't much else she could think to do.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Wow, this story has very nearly 100 people on alert (and that doesn't count the other 50 or so that have me on author alert). I'm in shock! I feel like I owe all the readers something :) How about a happy ending? Oh, and thanks to whomever nominated me for the GGKoolaid polls. I am feeling very flattered.  
_

_As for Chuck/Blair. I'd compare Chuck's lies to a giant house of cards. There are so many people who know either the whole truth (Eric, Damien) or parts of it (Vanessa, Dan, Lewis). It would only take one of them to crack to bring the whole house down. _

_Now the bad news. The end of the school year is upon me and it tends to be a crazy time for a teacher so I will try my best to update faithfully over the next four weeks but please bear with me.  
_

_SoniaR - yeah! A new reader! I'm glad you're enjoying it._

_Annablake - Blair went to Nate more in retaliation. She's grown up a lot over the last couple stories. She's a lot stronger but I give her permission to still make mistakes :) i"m proud of C too for staying sober but he's got lots of people helping him along over the moments. It's not going to be easy, especially as his life gets more complicated over the next week or so but it's okay because he's got Eric to lean on (oh, whoops)...he's got Serena (hmmm, nope)...how about Blair (not likely)...Lewis (whew!...ummm)....well at least he's got Nate and we all know Nate's got his best interests at heart :P_

_Blair S. - Blair's gone through a lot in the last couple stories. Her mother died, not to mention the total catyclismic meltdown that was her relationship with C in YCFYF. She's grown up a lot because of it. _

_Deziray - Because I like angst a little too much. It's true. Other people have commented on it. You don't have to worry about Chuck/Vanessa. I ship them in a particular way (I always wanted them to sleep together when C was not tied to B so that he could harrass her about it for the rest of her life *done* and I'd like their dynamic as friends. I have no interest in them dating or being romantic)  
_

_CBEBIW trory - Feel free to rant at my characters. I feel like slapping Chuck sometimes. It's a natural reaction ;) Just not at me persay.  
_

_oc-journey 06 - I enjoy the Aidan-Chuck dynamic too. It's so cute :) You'll get at least two more scenes involving the two of them. Blair is going to find out the truth don't you worry._

_teddybear - I'll let you in on a secret. C doesn't really want NB together irregardless of whether he'd be with her or not. It'll come clear next post. (Remember how he withheld his blessing?)  
_

_The Disruptive One - Aww, no more CB for you. I don't blame you. I also hate Nate. I've actually hated Nate ever since that scene in S1 where Blair is lying beside him (where she ends up wrapping her hand through his) and he says she needs to get over it or let it go. That was the moment I found his character disgusting and unfortunately they've pretty much reinforced it ever since. Kathy is gone for good and Jenny gets one more awesome role to play and it might finally fix her friendship with E.  
_

_BrittyKay - I hate NB too :)  
_

_Silken Bone - You really do ;)_

_Bluestriker - thank you for the review_

_Supernovelty - Thank you for the wonderful review :) I feel so giddy now. There is a lot of nuances in my writing. I'm so guilty of overdosing on foreshadowing that I always wonder why everyone doesn't know everything that's going to happen. I think they're just hidden enough that people miss the cues. Glad you're enjoying the story, hope you like the rest as much._

_happiness - X - if you have any fears of a CV then read my comment to Deziray :)  
_

_Up Next – A yelling match between two people who have yet to fight in any of my stories. Nate starts to realize that his problems with Chuck neither start nor end with Blair. Has Chuck schooled his brother well in making a good first impression?  
_


	52. Chapter Twenty Part Three

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty – Part Three**

Damien was lounging idly on an iron bench outside the arrivals terminal, all three sets of suitcases at his feet, cigarette burned to nothing by the time Serena and Eric finally emerged from customs. He was smiling too, a kind of smug smile that suited the way his hands reclined the full length of the seat and his feet splayed out to its sides. "Fuck it's good to be home!" Damien yelled at his guests as he jumped up and onto seat. At least two elderly passengers were startled, stared on in disgust. "Move along," He sneered right back. Damien stepped from the seat to the back of the bench, before jumping straight over. Serena and Eric exchanged a look of their own. Damien laid out his hands flat, indicated the city that swelled beyond the terminal. "Smell that polluted air," He mocked happily.

"Shall we call a taxi?" Eric suggested sensibly.

"No need," Damien retrieved the keys from his pocket and gave them a little jingle. "Le automobile awaits."

"I didn't think you knew how to drive," Serena said.

"Just because I didn't want to drive on the wrong side?" Damien teased as faced the pavement, turned back briefly to smile again. "We'll be at my grandfather's within an hour," He promised. "Well maybe two because we have to stop at Borough Market first. I need a really good scone" Damien turned again, eyebrow turning thoughtful. "And a real cup of tea, not that half-fat, no-fat, wish-I-could-have-just-a-bit-of-fat flavoured water!" He finished before setting off.

Serena and Eric chased the local through the line of taxicabs, searched through half of the first parkade before Damien realized he had no idea where they were going. He flipped his phone open and dialled. "Bradley!" Damien yelled into it. "Where the hell is my car?" When he got his answer he stopped, battle between scowl and smile playing out across his face. "You're a prat!" Damien shut the phone and grabbed Serena's bag for her. He was going to need to carry it. His brother had parked his car in the back corner of the back lot of one of the largest airports in the world.

Even once they reached the correct lot, it took the three nearly half an hour to find the car, visual searching given up in favour of beeping the automatic locks. Bradley had hidden it well, tucked the sports car between a delivery van and some falling apart Honda truck. The sparkling clean, fire engine red Porsche hardly fit its company. Eric and Serena just sort of stared while Damien tossed their bags into the trunk. Serena's first instinct had been to whistle. It's not that she hadn't been in cars like that her entire life. It's just that she was surprised Damien owned one. The boy was full of surprises. Her second instinct was to fight her brother for the front seat. The back was always three inches too small for her legs. "Oh no," Damien cross his arms against the roof and shook his head at the only girl. "Chuck told me you prefer to ride in the back!"

Eric stood away, couldn't help the sneer from spreading to his sister. She slapped him on the back of his head as she moved to sit behind. Damien fired the engine, classical music immediately filling the small space. Damien arched a brow and slapped eject. The CD had a simple message scrawled across the front: _**Didn't think so!**_ Damien smirked before he threw it towards the back. It bounced off the seat and landed at Serena's feet. He opened the glove compartment and searched for his usual stack. They were all replaced by another blank case, this one with the words _**Try this **_sketched on the case. Damien flipped it in and within moments the more suitable guitar riff to Pull Me In split the air. It reminded Serena of another road trip, nearly five months before.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By the time Chuck drew the sixth zero on his cheque, he decided the number wasn't as intriguing as he remembered. In fact, he was nearly ready to relegate his favourite to downright overrated. He signed his cheque with a flourish he couldn't feel, tried not to be nervous, to put his faith in Uncle Jack as he had the moment they started their little business ventures. Still Chuck had his doubts. He should never have signed on for a project that big, in an economic climate that uncertain. Mostly he should have trusted his instincts because this was neither an _oversight _nor a _problem_: oversights started at five digits, problems at six. Seven digits? They were reserved for massive screw ups! The realizations nearly stopped him from sealing the envelope. He did it anyway, handed it to his servant before he could question again, sat back, waited until the man had left to cover his eyes. He couldn't have done it before. He was the son of Bart Bass after all. He didn't uncover them until he heard the footsteps, then he peeked out to see who had caught him in his weakness. It was Nate and based on the other boy's irate posturing, it wouldn't have made a difference if Chuck was crying outright.

"_Yale_!" Nate yelled and Chuck understood. His eyes flickered to the side and the blonde capitalized on it. "Of all the schools in the country, why would you pick to go to Yale?"

Chuck swallowed hard. He wasn't entirely sure if he could put it to words. There were different competing reasons, ones he had tried to vanquish but lingered on, and others that were too sensitive to be put to words. "They offered me a placement," Chuck put the most neutral first.

"So accept another school," Nate countered. "Your father has enough money to buy your way into any school you want."

"I want to go to Yale," Chuck firmed his jaw.

"Why do you want it?"

"It has an excellent business program."

"So do any of the Ivy League schools!"

"I prefer Yale." Chuck tried to explain calmly. "When I was in rehab..."

"You think I care about that?" Nate snapped. "You think I'm buying that this has nothing to do with Blair. That of _all_ the Ivy League schools you just _happened_ to accept admission to the school she's attending." Chuck squared his shoulders. He couldn't deny that was his original motive, back when he'd dreamed of their future in unison. "This is textbook Chuck Bass," Nate raised his voice further. "Pretend you don't want something, scheme behind everyone's back to get it anyway. What are you planning to do? Wait a couple years, until she nearly forgets all the shitty things you've done to her, and then swoop in and mess with her again."

"It's not like that," Chuck finally spoke, was emphatic enough to promise. "I meant what I said to you already. Blair and I are done."

"How come I don't believe you?" Nate asked. "In fact, what else have you been doing? How else have you been interfering?"

"God dammit Nate!" Chuck yelled and then pulled back; words dark but delivery controlled. "I can't make her want you!"

"It's your fault that she doesn't."

Chuck shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not the one who fucked Serena!"

"Are you actually going to go there?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have!"

"You don't think I regret that?"

"Do you really?" Chuck asked and there was something in the delivery, the total conviction that brought a realization.

"You don't even want Blair and I together."

The turn of his head away from his best friend explained enough, words cementing the sentiment. "She could do better."

"Some friend you are!" Nate shouted back. "You should be supporting me, happy to see two of your friends together. Instead of plotting behind my back! If you were _truly_ my friend then you'd go to West Point Academy like your _father_ always wanted you to."

That cracked Chuck's determined indifference; caused the antagonism to match the level of his voice. "I'm not planning _my_ future based on _your_ romantic flights of fancy!" He barked as he stood. "Get out of my house!" Chuck waited with clenched jaw for the blonde to execute his command. Nate didn't even hesitate; he marched out with matching fury.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair's face was there when Chuck closed his locker. He knew it would be, he'd heard her heels, recognized the perfectly coordinated sequence from the moment they entered the Boy's hall. He didn't dare to look but now he couldn't look away. He saw what Eric had sworn, there was no mask to hide behind, just a kind of gnawing hurt. It made him play with his lock, reopen the metal box. "Why are you going to Yale?" There was no firmness to the question, no bitchy undertone to hide behind.

Chuck stared at the collection of crumpled papers on the top shelf of his locker, pulled a couple down and smoothed them against the metal door. "They offered me admission," Chuck tried as he had with Nate.

"Why did you take it?"

Chuck tossed the papers back up and turned. "Did I ever tell you where Clayton House was?" Blair denied it with a nod. "It's perched on the top of a rolling hill in Connecticut," Chuck explained, "It has these amazing pines trees and decorative gardens that wind through every inch. They were the only barrier between it and Yale university below. So maybe," He looked just briefly away. "I fell in love with it too."

Blair felt the smile form but it didn't spread entirely full. It couldn't be all encompassing because that was the moment Blair knew. If Chuck could go to Yale and still have it be about anything but her then it must never have been about her at all. "I..." Blair took the deepest breath she could but she didn't have anything left to say.

Chuck stared at his shoes a long while before he decided what to say next. "But if you don't want me to go there," He looked up, met her eyes. "Then just say so and I won't."

Blair stared back at him, tried one last time to read his thoughts or intent. They never came through anymore. "It's a big university," she offered as she walked away.

Nate finally found his understanding as he watched the changes in his friend. He'd been following the brunette all day, waiting for that conversation to come. And now that it had, he had confirmation of everything he'd already known. He watched every change in his best friend's demeanour, the way his shoulders fell forward and his eyes followed Blair as she walked away. It could have made him sympathetic but Nate didn't like complications.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The rolling hills of England's southern coast sped by as pavement turned to gravel beneath Damien's wheels. The countryside passed in a blur as he shifted lanes and clung to corners he'd memorized as a child years ago. Eric adored every moment, the building scent of salt air as the party of three drew closer to their destination, the forests of thin trees and wildflowers. He even loved the manor house as it rose, five times larger than either Van der Woodsen expected. Serena leaned forward and whispered into her brother's ear. "Blair would love this!" Eric laughed because it was true.

"Don't worry," Damien teased as his passengers ogled his grandfather's house. "We're considered the poorer relations."

They were about a mile out when Damien detoured to a gravel road away from the house. "What are you doing?" Serena asked.

"A little payback," Damien smirked into the rear view.

They were about a half mile down the road before Serena heard the first shot. "They're shooting at us," She screamed and put her head down.

Damien and Eric both cracked up at her distress. "My brother Bradley is gearing up for the grouse season. They're shooting at clay disks," He assured the oldest Van der Woodsen. Damien slowed their car by the loudest cracks, counted down the twenty seconds his brother always hesitated between shots and then leaned on his horn with all his might one second before the following shot rang.

It took only a couple minutes before the first brother emerged from behind the row of bushes. He was as tall as Damien with a frame that filled out the dark black pants and white turtleneck fully. Another appeared behind, the family resemblance striking. "You made me miss you know," The second and younger of the brothers yelled at the car.

"That was kind of the point," Damien promised as he stepped out. Eric and his sister followed. Bradley's eyes followed the new arrivals, surprise not even masked. Damien made the introductions and Eric put his hand out as expected.

"_You're Eric Van der Woodsen_?" Bradley asked in bemusement, stared at his grey dress slacks and yellow polo, at the freshly washed face and naturally styled hair.

"The last time I checked."

"Sorry," He reanimated. "You're just different from what I expected."

Eric accepted it, hoped that the difference was a positive one.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck slammed the cover of his journal shut, put two fingers to the corner and sent it spinning across the table and onto the floor. It landed at the feet of Lewis. "Tough day?" She guessed.

Chuck took a deep breath and looked away. "You could say that."

"Anything I could help with?" Chuck shook his head. It wasn't her business. "Okay," Lewis shrugged her shoulders, picked up the journal and dropped it back to the table.

He let her walk nearly to the door before the admittance came. "I yelled at my best friend," _Once again hurt the girl I love. Am 12 million dollars __further__ into a project that is spontaneously combusting._ He bit back the other two. One thing at a time.

"Did he deserve it?" Lewis asked. Chuck stared at her, tried to gauge whether she was being sarcastic or not. Sometimes it was hard to figure it out.

"Yes."

"Then all's good," Lewis explained and this time he knew she was joking.

"We've been friends since we were born."

"Sometimes we outgrow things," Lewis admitted. "And if we haven't, then they'll be back. Maybe you just need to redefine things. After all, you've changed a lot."

Chuck furrowed his brow in thought. She had a definite point. "Thanks," He said. "For the advice. I really appreciate having you here."

"Anytime Chuck."

Chuck smirked at that, he put a hand to his lips and smiled. "I just noticed something. You've started calling me Chuck!"

"Good night," The older woman rolled her eyes and left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By the time she spotted the curls Vanessa was beginning to wonder how her tiny cafe had become a regular with the Upper East Side crowd. The Soho Stop might have the best coffee in New York but neither of her rich guests had finished a single cup and based on the determined crack of Blair's heels this visit would be no different. Her black and white floral print skirt floated as she walked to the counter, snapped as she pulled herself to a familiar stool. She ran her manicured nails against the counter exactly twice and then snapped, "Can I get some service here?"

Vanessa eyed the rest of her customers in resignation; there were only four. She usually liked the Thursday evening shift precisely because it was slow. Now she wished it was half-full. "Would you like a menu?" Vanessa offered up a slip of plastic.

"You mean you serve things beyond coffee and," Blair eyed the central glass tray with disgust "day old muffins?"

Vanessa nearly pointed out that she baked those raspberry and white chocolate muffins herself, less than an hour ago. She didn't. What would be the point? She crossed her arms instead.

"Coffee," Blair arched her brow in bemusement as her server said nothing. "Black," She finished before Vanessa could ask.

It was fetched dutifully, placed before Blair without comment. Vanessa tried to make her escape after but Blair didn't even allow her a step. "You think I really came for the coffee?"

When did they ever? Vanessa recrossed her arms and turned back. "I'm not going to talk about Chuck with you."

"I'm not expecting you to talk at all," Blair countered. "You just need to listen." She took a slow sip of her coffee then, lingered a full moment to allow Vanessa escape. The Bohemian didn't take it. "I just hope you know what you're getting yourself in for," Blair stared her straight in the eye. "Chuck is difficult."

"I know that."

"Do you really. Do you actually understand how difficult it is to be with him? You have to meander between his screwed up past, the mommy and daddy issues, figure a way around his masochistic tendencies and alcoholism, all the while knowing, that if you push the wrong way or too hard, he might just kill himself for it." Blair could see Vanessa's eyes round with each piece. She was fully terrified by the end. It didn't make Blair happy to see it. It almost made her sad. Despite the force of history predicting it, Blair's intent had never been to scare the other girl away, but to relate a history that could become essential. "Trying to coexist with Chuck Bass is a constant struggle between equal and sometimes opposite fears and issues." Blair could feel her doe eyes turn to glass as she finished. "Trying to be with Chuck is very nearly impossible," She promised.

Blair didn't wait for any reply to her thoughts, she was too afraid she'd cry if she lingered. So she grabbed her purse back, threw a couple bills on the stained countertop and left. She had her phone out before she was halfway down the street, waiting through the international beeps. "S!" She called out as it connected. "How's the weather over there?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was reclined against a metal pole when he heard it, the insistent "Duck!" followed by the racing patter of tiny feet. They barely were distinguishable against the dozen other that ran in sequence to the largest slide, the childish cries and screams that echoed from the playground behind him. The other kids didn't have those same green eyes, bouncing brown curls or stunning mother chasing behind. So Chuck butted his cigarette before the wobbling two year old feet could catch him. He rose only one eyebrow when Aidan did catch him, it spiked higher when the little boy's two arms encircled his leg and held on for dear life.

Lewis was more embarrassed by the display. Her cheeks were carved out in a dusting of pink as she tried to persuade her son to let go. Aidan eventually did but only to try to grab at the older boy's hand. "Sing, sing!" Aidan insisted with a finger at the metal swing set to the side.

"Aidan. I'm sure Chuck is too busy push you on the swing."

Chuck took a look to the left and right: both sides were still empty. He took a look at his casual shirt and pants: suitable for roughhousing. Why would Lewis think he was busy? Okay, so maybe he didn't usually jump at the opportunity to play with droolers but that was before the play involved swings. Chuck had a natural affinity for soaring high. So he held his palm flat and let the toddler grab hard. "A few minutes won't hurt," Chuck decided.

The only one it hurt was Lewis and she wasn't really hurt, just scared to the point of insensibility. She bit her tongue after the seven admonishment to be careful, listened to her son's enthusiastic giggles and tried to reconcile the height that had garnered them. Chuck had tried to sit the two year old in a regular swing first. That was easily changed to an infant strip of leather. Lewis couldn't as easily convince Chuck to not push him so high. Chuck had started out at the top, pushed Aidan high enough so that he could race underneath, set the toddler halfway to the sky before running underneath again. He pushed him until the tiny swing jumped at the top, until his smile matched the child's and one chuckle of laughter betrayed his own enjoyment.

"Trying to initiate another daredevil?" Nate called and Chuck stepped out of the way of the returning feet, smile disappearing as the little boy soared upward again. Chuck pulled him to a stop without comment. "I called to apologize," Nate explained as the toddler started to cry. He wasn't happy to see his fun end. Lewis pulled Aidan out of the leather and into her arms. Chuck ignored his best friend, put his hands out for the smaller boy instead.

If Nate had issues with being passed over for a sixteen year old Eric, then he had a whole new level of issue with being passed over for a screaming two year old. Chuck whispered a series of words into the toddler's ear and Aidan started to quiet down. When he was suitably calm Chuck returned him to his mother. Aidan didn't get away before depositing a wet kiss on the older boys cheek. Chuck grimaced as it came, wiped it away the moment the little boy's back was turned.

"How did you get him to be quiet?" Nate asked once Aidan disappeared, mother and stroller in tow.

"I told him I'd buy him Cranky Crane if he shut up," Chuck admitted as he walked the other way away from the playground.

Nate followed behind. "Thanks for meeting me."

Chuck made an impartial noise that sounded almost like "hmmm."

"I wanted to apologize. I was totally out of line yesterday." Chuck stopped walking at that, turned around to face the blonde in interest. "I can't believe I asked you to change universities just because I was jealous," Nate shook his head. "You had every right to throw me out. And you have every right to doubt me. Blair too! I didn't treat her well before. I _was_ insincere and fanciful," Nate called back the other boy's words. "It shows how good a _friend_ you are to be worried about her."

Chuck turned back towards the playground. He watched the teams of running children that ten years ago could have been him and Nate.

"I know you just want what's best for her but I also know, in the long run, you'll see that what's best is me." Nate insisted and waited for the other boy to reply. Chuck didn't make one. "What do you think?" Nate put out at last.

Chuck looked from his best friend to the playground, the laughing children, and then back again. He caught the empty swings and decided "I think we should race to the top," He decided abruptly.

Nate eyed the swings as well. "We're eighteen," He reminded Chuck.

Chuck just arched a brow to match Nate's disbelieving one. It only took a second and no words for the decision. The two older boys raced across the park, feet kicking up blades of grass as they ran. They threw their larger bodies onto the strips of leather in equal time, pushing into the dirt below the set, kicking off as hard as they could before jumping into place. Nate and Chuck soared upward with matching pushes and pulls, cresting remarkably close.

Despite the historical record, Nate was the first to feel the drag of the top, that moment you defy gravity and soar unmanaged until a chain pulls you back down to the earth. For once Nate was the one to cry out in victory and Chuck was left to curse in consolation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Allenby brothers were already arranged in a perfect line when Eric reached them. They stood on the croquet field, a steady progression of dark hair, wide noses and green eyes. They were all cut from the same fabric with one notable exception. The rest of the Allenby boys were dressed in neutrals, white sweaters and tan pants that blended into the green lawn. It could have been a scene from a traveller's brochure except for Damien's tight black and white chequered t-shirt and olive combat shorts. When Eric turned to his sister he realized that Serena saw it too.

"Eric!" Damien nearly sprinted across the field, offered up his stick enthusiastically, urged his boyfriend to take his place. "What are you wearing?"

Eric looked at his clothing; white polo and tan shorts that fit with the rest. "You don't like?"

"My parents will. If you're not careful," Damien teased. "They'll adopt you and send me back to New York."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was seated at the long desk when Lewis entered, flipping through sheets in a yellow folder and adding notes to a green one. "We need to talk," She interrupted.

"Can it wait?" Bart asked. "I need to complete my briefing sheets before I fly out tonight."

"No," Lewis decided. "It can't." Bart arched one brow but pushed his papers aside regardless. "I know I promised you another two weeks but I would feel much better moving out now."

"What?" Bart arched his brow higher. "No, you should stay."

"I don't think that..."

"Your son adores it here."

"I know that. He adores it a little _too_ much. He's becoming very attached to Chuck."

"That's a good thing," Bart insisted.

Lewis furrowed her brow at Bart's total flippancy. It's not as if they were talking about Aidan forming an attachment to a new stuffed toy. You couldn't pack up Bart's grown son once it was time to head back West. "And Chuck is growing quite fond of him."

"Also good."

"And me." Lewis gave her head a shake. "Your son is getting quite attached to me being here."

"Even better," Bart made a notation on his spreadsheet. "He needs a good female role model after the debacle with Lily." Lewis nearly choked. Those might have been the least reassuring words she could have heard. A chime from Bart's blackberry proved he was due to leave. He started packing up his paperwork. "I have to go but you don't need to. Don't leave, not now or in two weeks or ever. I like having you here," He said stoically. "You're good for my family."

The oddest thing is he tried to kiss her on the way out, despite barely speaking since sleeping together and following the strangest worded declaration of she wasn't sure what, he went right for her lips. Was it any surprise that she bent immediately away, or that she was left shaking her head as he left anyway? At least she had _another _ three days to figure out what the hell he had said.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair could almost taste the salt air in her mouth. The sun beat down on her wide brimmed hat, coating her cream complexion with a sheen she'd later play off as a glow. The beams cast sparkles against the peak of each small wave, wind enough to bring quick finishes if not relief. Blair watched the collection of boats glide through the inner harbour and something happened. Somewhere between the nautical inspired print dress and navy hat, the crack of wind against tall sails, and the cheering crowds Blair rediscovered her own enthusiasm. She had always loved the Vanderbilt ship, a mass of natural wood and blue shirts. Nate raced with his grandfather every spring, manned the slip of wood with a team of cousins.

She could just catch a flash of his blonde hair as he dashed from one side of the boat to the other. She didn't need to see it, the memory was imprinted from the years past. The way his face lit up at each turn, or how his muscles pulled with every swing of the sails, or the way his lips tasted of salt water no matter if the spray had hit or not. It clung to him as an unspoken sign that summer was nearly here.

"Blair," Anne Archibald interrupted her trip down memory lane, or perhaps extended it. Nate's mother put a hand warmly to the younger girl's back. "Are you enjoying the race?"

"I always do," Blair admitted honestly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck Bass was actually walking to the Regatta dinner. It wasn't due to the extraordinary heat that made his suit cling in all the wrong places. Neither was it for the opportunity to ogle the lines of spectators along the seashore. It was better if he saw no brunette until it couldn't be avoided any longer. It wasn't even for the bouquet of roses he held in one hand. He'd had his man fetch Vanessa's flowers that afternoon. He was walking because he'd run out of options to calm down, because the crawling in his throat wasn't chased away after a swim or even another five pages in his journal. He was walking because Eric proved himself right again. Recognizing the truth didn't lift the distress anymore than living a lie had. His feet felt heavy, the flowers in his hand a burden. He tossed them in the last garbage can before he reached the corner, turned around it into something new. Vanessa was waiting by the front door, dress painted in shades of green and blue. When she caught him she stepped forward.

"Are you ready?" Chuck said without offering his arm.

"I need to talk to you first."

"Talk," Chuck turned his eyes to the rest of the guests, milling out from the entrance to the sides.

"I'm not doing this anymore. After tonight don't call me again," Vanessa said firmly. It made him snap his brown eyes to her violet ones. "Do whatever you need to tonight, make Blair jealous or make her hate you but after this exhibition I'm done."

"You'd give up everything?" Chuck asked in disbelief.

"I'm not giving up anything," Vanessa said confidently. "The Chuck Bass that _I_ know, he wouldn't really do that to me."

Vanessa turned at that, green tinted seas disappearing with the crowd. Chuck didn't offered a retort but shut his eyes against the miscalculation. He didn't really care except that he had lost. He'd planned to end the game anyway. Nothing had truly changed except Chuck was left almost respecting Vanessa. He had to admire anyone who had the nerve to finally call him on his bull.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The tension at that table was so thick that the four nearly choked in sequence. Three drank champagne to avoid it; the other turned his glass over and kept out of the middling conversations. If this was Nate's brilliant plan for a reconciliation than it succeeded as the rest of his usually did, only one step up from total failure. Then again, was that his plan? Did you ever truly believe that?

Eventually Blair agreed to dance to escape it. Nate had suggested that Chuck and Vanessa do the same but the two brunettes had refused immediately. Nate was disappointed. This evening was not progressing according to plan. Chuck wasn't making eyes at Vanessa, he was outright ignoring her. In fact, Nate's best friend was ignoring all of them, speaking only when questions were directly put to him, letting the rest carry on without him. He wasn't eating either, he was fully distracted. Things weren't working right at all. When Nate finally got Blair's pale hand through his, could finally pull her to the floor she was still staring at his best friend.

Blair wasn't sure whether she felt relief or misery in watching Chuck. The sadness came with how openly Vanessa pulled for him, the relief came with how firmly Chuck pulled back away. She watched him wrench free at every touch and felt relieved that it wasn't her being rejected again. Chuck had stopped being her problem when he'd stopped being hers. So she turned her attention back to her dance partner, followed his uncomplicated steps and realized. Blair Waldorf wanted simplicity more than anything else and Nathaniel Archibald was nothing if not simple.

So she let the taller boy spin her once and wondered. If she turned away fast enough would it set the butterflies free? Let them fly away at last?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was like some twisted nightmare come to life, the way her tiny brunette body fit beside his taller blonde one. Chuck wanted to look away but he just couldn't. He couldn't delete it like he had the photographs, couldn't erase it like he'd tried to their history. It was right in front of him.

"Are you alright?" Vanessa asked, tried to touch his arm in sympathy. He pulled back.

"Don't touch me."

"You're obviously upset," Vanessa explained with a look right and left.

"Shut up," Chuck snapped through the wrenching of his heart. It took only one minute before he knew he had to exit. This was beyond what he could handle, the tears threatened and the way Vanessa kept trying to touch him proved that she knew it too. "I'm leaving."

"What?"

"Tell them I have business with my uncle," Chuck explained.

"And they're going to believe..."

"I have seven multimillion dollar projects on the go with him right now," Chuck snapped at the brunette. It shut her up. Who would have expected that?

"Why don't you stay and explain..." Vanessa tried but Chuck was already out of his chair. "Chuck!" Vanessa grabbed for his arm. He wrenched it free.

"You said you're done," Chuck reminded her. "So be done."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis ran a finger along her wine glass, filled with orange juice as per her request. The tartness sort of fit the situation; Eating at the Wiltshire's always left a sour taste to her mouth. She didn't think the awkwardness at the Bass dining table could be bettered, but one look at the key in Aidan's grandfather's hand and she knew it had been. "It's just beyond the central playground at Central Park."

"I don't want to live in a Penthouse apartment."

"It's in the same building as the apartment you nearly sublet last month."

That was a two bedroom suite that she had been abandoned once she realized the entire building was a Wiltshire Holding. She was already feeling too influenced by her son's grandparents and suspected that if she had some family to replace them then she'd have walked away months ago.

"You really need to move out of the Bass townhouse," Beth Wiltshire started. "Do you know what people are saying about you?"

"After your entanglements with the son last year," Matthew stared meaningfully. "It's not good chatter."

"I don't care what people in New York think about me."

"You should," Matthew hit the note again. "If not for your sake then for your son's. He's going to have to live here when the time comes, do business with _all_ the other _industrialists _in the city," He finished meaningfully.

Lewis hated how infuriatingly logical the elder Wiltshire could be. She took one more look at the lines in his face, then at the key before taking it from his outstretched hand.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair knew Chuck had left the table before they returned to it but she hadn't realized he'd left the restaurant until she saw that his jacket was gone. "Chuck has business with his uncle," Vanessa dealt out the lie, was standing before the other two could sit. "So I'm leaving too," She was twenty feet away before they could think to say goodbye.

Blair sat at the chair Nate pulled for her. "Maybe the fates conspired," Nate teased with those blue eyes. "To force us to have dinner together."

"I don't think fate uses flaky compatriots."

"Maybe she should," Nate teased further. "So that we can finally talk about things."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?" Nate asked. He waited patiently for the insult but there was no instantaneous snapping reply. With how long Blair waited without words Nate knew he was finally getting the truth. "What's stopping you from giving us another try?"

"I don't trust you." Blair explained. "You not only slept with Serena but you lied about it for months."

"I'm not going to pretend I haven't made tons of mistakes," Nate admitted. "But maybe I had to."

Blair snorted at that. She wasn't the person she'd been when she first found out about the infidelity. She wasn't going to pretend things were okay, that she wasn't hurt, or ignore things to try to make things work. She wasn't that desperate little girl anymore.

"I think I had to be with Serena to give up the fantasy, to prove to myself that she wasn't right." Nate crossed his hands on the table. "Maybe that's the same reason you had to be with Chuck, to get past your fascination and prove to yourself that you couldn't make him right."

Blair stared at that; never in their many years together had Nate ever put her preoccupation with Chuck to words. He'd teased and taunted but never honestly admitted it.

"Maybe we weren't meant to have an unbroken relationship from start to finish. We were so young when we started, and we had so much to learn." Nate dimpled. "But we're older now and wiser too."

"I still don't trust you," Blair said but it wasn't as forceful on the second rendering, her eyes turned down to the table rather than hung on his with resolve. "You fall in and out of love like it's an ill-timed sugar rush!"

Nate winched against the statement but pushed on. "Have I every chased anyone like I have you?" He asked. "Totally, against all odds, with only the slimmest chance of success?"

Blair had to admit he hadn't. Nate had always tripped in and out of what was offered. Even in the after effect of his affair, the best he could offer was an apology and a badly worded admonishment for her to accept or give up.

"If you can honestly tell me that you feel nothing for me, that when you look deep down there is nothing left at all between us, then I'll leave you alone. But if you find something then let's build it up together." Nate knew he'd finally won when she stayed silent, when she didn't deny things outright. "We could start slow," He promised. "Go to a movie?"

"How about another dance?" Blair suggested instead.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

By the weekend Eric realized a few things. The first was that he was quite fond of the Allenby brood. They might not have been like Damien. In fact, they were quite the opposite. His boyfriend had lined his four remaining brothers up the first night at the house and introduced them as "Doctor, lawyer, lawyer, and med student.," with one brow arched. Eric was starting to understand the dynamic Damien always referred to but despite the differences they were close. Damien's mother had the aristocratic posturing expected of the youngest daughter of an Earl, high cheekbones to match her accent and mannerisms. His father was more affable, possessing a kind of JFK approachability. The brothers took a blend of each, a sort of wit interspersed with highbrow conversation.

Serena had fallen in with the wives of the oldest three, defected to the garden after dinner. Damien had disappeared to speak privately with his grandfather in a back study. Eric had been introduced but, despite all his wealth and breeding, still felt intimidated by the Patriarch. So he defected to the mantle of the fireplace, found the Allenby family photos interspersed between the extended family. There were a lot of staged shots, professional renderings but Eric preferred the candid ones. They told a story. Eric picked up one. He guessed Damien's age to be twelve, he was laid out on the grass, legs and arms flailing as his older brother Tom soaked him with a hose. Eric put it back. They were all like that, Damien and Tom appeared side by side in all the family photographs.

"That was the spring of 2003," Mrs. Allenby explained. "It was unnaturally hot." Eric looked up at Damien's mother. "This one is my favourite," She grabbed another with a smile and passed it to her young guest. Damien was much younger than the last, probably closer to six in comparison to his brother Tom's fourteen. Tom was sitting cross legged on a tire swing, Damien having planted his tiny feet, was doing his best to push the older boy upward. "How is Damien doing?" The mother asked.

"Fine I suppose," Eric answered.

"He doesn't like to let on to things bothering him," Mrs. Allenby explained.

"He's trying pretty hard to hide it," Eric admitted.

"That's why we really appreciate your coming with Damien. For being with him through this time. My husband and I know how important you are to our son. Damien has never really had a boyfriend before," The mother explained. "He had a girlfriend once," She rambled. "But he'd never really had a steady person around...that's not to say he's had a lot of unsteady people around either," She backtracked nervously. "He's not a womani...maninizer."

"I think I get it," Eric laughed reassuringly as the older woman's face turned red.

"We all are very happy to finally meet you."

"As am I."

"We wanted to fly you out last year for Christmas but with everything that happened."

Eric took extra care to study the picture in his hands. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that.

"We're all very thankful that you forgave Damien for what he did. I hope you know that it's not something our youngest would normally chose to do. In fact, he wouldn't have done it at all if it didn't involve his brother Tom. He always idolized the older." Eric had guessed as much from the line of photos and the tattoo. "It's why we sent Damien to Eton. He was the only one of our sons to go despite being the least suited to it." Damien's mother laughed. "The only distinguishment Damien ever garnered was graduating at the _bottom_ of his class but it was worth it to curb Tom's influences. Anyway," The woman squeezed Eric on the arm. "We're so glad that you made it."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Wow, it's been a long time since we had a Bart pep talk. Nice to see he aced it again ;)_

_flipped – Yeah! Another reader! Glad you're enjoying it._

_Bluestriker666 – Thanks :)_

_Bradshaw-esque – Will Bart and Lewis work things out? Hmmm, we'll see. I promise I won't ever break up ED. I love them too much :)_

_Supernovelty – I won't do that to you (have VC in a fake relationship for four weeks). They did manage 4 days but V is now done with it all. She doesn't have illusions of saving others._

_BrittyKay – I'm glad you enjoyed TH. Hopefully you'll like YCFYF too. B is doing pretty well with not slipping up but she's relying on S._

_Doxeh – You won't have to wait too long for the happy endings to start. The first of them comes either next post or the one after. We're starting with the person who deserves it most ;)_

_Hey – thanks :)_

_Annablake – alas the yelling match was between CN. Don't worry though, Blair is going to get the WHOLE truth and I think you'll like how it happens._

_BlairS – I don't think B is going to prom with N as a game though. I think she genuinely wants to go. She's spent a long time crying over C and I don't think she wants to give up her life because of him. She's become quite a strong character._

_Sky Samuelle – I hate Nate too, always have, always will ;) I do like Dan though. He kind of reminds me of my own high school boyfriend and at times I think I'm most like him personality wise._

_Up Next – Nate discovers that his problems with C don't start and end with B. Damien prepares for the funeral. What's the one thing E has consistently wanted other than D saying ILU? He might just get it. Chuck gets wrapped up in drama that shouldn't involve him. He better not lose sight of what's important at the moment._


	53. Chapter Twenty One Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-One – Part One**

_May 16, 2009_

_My life is tangled up in ironies. It's the word I'd assigned to Nate once upon a time. Why? Because it was gentler than cheater and softer than liar but somewhere in the middle the meaning was the same. The definition of irony is to use words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning. Nate used to swear that he loved me. That was ironic!_

_Chuck has his own ironies. The way his eyes rarely match his words, or how even when he plays at being happy, if you stare hard enough, you can see the hundred other emotions at work. His is a fundamental incompatibility that plays out in both the tiniest and all-encompassing of ways. Chuck used to tease that I was the only girl he didn't want but the gold of his eyes undid him every time._

_I'd always assumed my life's ironies would set themselves to right. Nate would recognize his lies for what they were; Chuck would learn to reconcile the truth. It never happened. Perhaps that's the irony that tangles the most._

_Somewhere in between Nate's words began to match his eyes. And Chuck? His eyes went clear only to cloud again, to turn as irreconcilable as always. That's how I realized. My life might just have followed the other definition all along, the one that states irony is incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs._

_Blair Waldorf_

Chuck typed the information his uncle had forwarded into his blackberry, dated the appointment with time and place. He copied the names of the investors he needed to impress and the directions for using his father's teleconference materials. Perhaps it was a bit of overkill. It was only two days away, he was unlikely to forget either the date or directions. He pushed save anyway. The last thing he needed was another screw up. The phone rang when he was finished. The screaming Pete Doherty indicated it was Eric. The younger boy had cut it just to piss the older off. The fact that Chuck had yet to delete it, that proved something else entirely. "Does his family love you yet?" Chuck teased as greeting.

"How could they not?" Eric teased right back. "You taught me well."

"Damien?"

"I'm working on it." Eric promised while Chuck opened his closet. He pulled a pink polo and gray and black pinstriped pants to replace his pajamas. He kicked his slippers to one side of the bed and sat his exhausted body to the end.

"How is his family?"

"They're lovely."

"_Lovely_?" Chuck snorted.

"What?"

"Are they pleasant too?" Chuck teased. "Even endearing."

"Shut up Chuck."

"Seriously," the older brother changed tone. "Do you like it there?"

"I do."

"That's good," Chuck was reassured.

"How are you doing?" Eric countered. Chuck didn't need to answer. The hesitation through the line was enough. "What's happened?"

"It's just business," Chuck promised.

"That's all?" Eric reflected. Chuck could hear the disbelief crackle with the static. "Have you talked to Blair yet?" Eric cut through the game. He might have been a continent away but Chuck was pretty sure Gossip Girl carried that far.

"Goodbye Eric," Chuck said abruptly, closed the phone before he had to discuss anything that had happened. Eric didn't call back. The younger boy had got his answer. He'd try again tomorrow. He always did. Chuck tossed the phone on the bed and stripped. It was almost endearing, Eric's unique blend of innocence and strength that slowly turned everyone else's meanders straight. The boy was too sympathetically innocent to ignore and too subtly strong to deny. It was a dangerous combination.

Chuck pulled the polo over his head, buttoned his pants and passed a belt through each loop. A quick brush through his still damp hair and Chuck was down the stairs and into the kitchen. He went for the pot of coffee first. There was a steady hum at the edge of his consciousness, the consequence of yet another interrupted sleep sprinkled atop his already upset thoughts. It was becoming its own dangerous combination. He poured a second glass before Aidan tottered into the kitchen in accompaniment of his mother.

"That stuff will stunt your growth," Lewis said automatically.

Chuck arched one brow and poured a third. Was she kidding him? Honestly! Sometimes it felt like Lewis fell out of an episode of the Brady Bunch. She just needed to add in some golly gees! "Where is my dad?"

"Talking with his lawyer."

Chuck was impressed. It was the third Saturday in a row that Lewis' immigration lawyer had made an appearance at the Bass townhouse. Chuck grabbed his sunglasses from the counter. He'd make his own appearance before he headed out. He was curious how the man was progressing. "Excuse me," Chuck picked up his third cup and offered it to Lewis, taunting smirk daring her to take it. She did but only to toss the rest into the sink.

Chuck didn't need to either listen at the door of his father's study or knock for entry. The door was open, Bart was finished with the lawyer when Chuck reached the main hall. It wasn't the lawyer Chuck had expected. It wasn't a tall, skinny man with dark hair but a wider one with a receding hairline. It wasn't Lewis' lawyer but the family one. He already knew why the man was there, the words were just the confirmation.

"I'll have Lily sign today and the final copy notarized on Monday."

Chuck was vaguely aware that it shouldn't bother him. Serena had mentioned the divorce would be finalized within a week. He ought to be excited to see the whole mess put to rest. After all, now his father could pursue avenues Chuck considered significantly more favorable to everyone. It could have been anticipation he felt except it was too dark. It was a bit closer to disappointment, a mourning he didn't expect. Maybe it wasn't Lily. Maybe it was everything she had brought with her. It was all done forever now.

Still he turned the passing frown to an incomplete smile by the time he leaned on his father's door. "Congratulations," He offered up rather than commiseration.

His father was as contemplative as Chuck had been. His hand were splayed across his desk and if Chuck could see the feet beneath it, Chuck knew they'd be parted too. "I never thought I'd end up a divorcee," Bart admitted.

"You're still three shy of Lily," Chuck reminded his father. The implication passed Chuck's incomplete smile to the older Bass.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate was about two steps from his front door when his father caught him. He'd been avoiding the Captain for days, every since the older man suggested they discuss the upcoming father-son dinner at St. Judes. Nate had a pretty good idea how that discussion would begin and end In fact, it was a foregone conclusion considering his father had prefaced the suggestion with _based on what happened at the Dartmouth evening. _"We need to talk about the dinner," Howard caught him at the last step.

"I need to head out," Nate tried. "Blair is expecting me."

"I'm sure she can spare you a few minutes."

Nate almost put his hand to the knob anyway but figured one fight now entailed two less later. So he turned around and followed his father back in.

"We need to discuss what we're going to say when you talk about your plans for next year."

Nate stretched just a bit. This was going to be another of those.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to have _my son_ explain that he was undecided between UCLA and Dartmouth."

"Can we talk about this later?"

"I don't want to talk about it ever again."

"What is wrong with UCLA?"

"I'm sure it's a nice little school," The Captain insisted. "I'm sure there's a lot of blue collar workers who dream of sending their children there but the _Archibalds_ of the world. They don't go to schools like _that_."

"Well maybe they should."

"That's enough. I don't want to hear you talk about it again."

Nate put his tongue to a cheek, bit down to keep the retort caged. It wouldn't do any good. His father could not understand how anyone could prefer athletics to anything else. "Fine," He agreed as flippantly as he always did. It was the magic word to end all those pep talks. Nate slipped on his loafers and hit the door.

"Nate," His father called before he was out. "Ivy Leagues are the only acceptable schools," Howard repeated again. "I see your friend Charles finally figured that out."

That made Nate slam the door behind him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Manhattan Fencing Club was tucked away on the second floor of a building close to Times Square. Blair and Nate had dropped the name Bass at the front desk, were paged immediately upstairs. "What are we doing here again?" Nate asked as they ventured further into the white space. It was wide and clean, with drawn lines having significance beyond the understanding of either of the new arrivals. The best they could decipher was that it was laid out in quadrants, men in casual dress and covered heads dueling for points and practice.

"I have something to give to Chuck," Blair reminded the blonde. She'd intended to give it yesterday but he'd run off before she could. "He said I could meet him here."

"Since when has Chuck fenced?" Nate spoke over the clang of metal.

"He tried it at Clayton House."

How easily the answer came made Nate flop rather than sit on the bordering chairs. How come everyone else knew everything about Chuck? "How are we going to know which one he is?"

Blair pointed to a tall boy in the corner, clad in purple track pants and a light gray long sleeved shirt. Even with a mask it was easy to tell Chuck Bass. He was parrying with a taller man. Nate directed her to interrupt but she just sat instead, took in the scene for a couple minutes. Chuck had improved since that first impromptu lesson at Yale. He'd begun to study the sport, had improved his form and style. He was still very much the beginner but so was the man he was facing. There was a clumsiness to both their movements, every few minutes they'd run right off into a bout of laughter, would have to begin again. Blair started to form an opinion of who exactly the other man was after the second round of chuckles, confirmed it when Chuck's taller opponent was the first catch his visitors and point them out.

Nate wasn't as observant. He was the only one surprised when Bart pulled his mask and revealed his identity. Blair laughed beside him but Nate got a crawling disgusted feeling. It wasn't right. Bart Bass wasn't supposed to be the father who spent Saturday afternoons playing with his son. When Blair stopped Nate from following her across the room, explained that she needed to speak to Chuck privately it made that disgusted feeling dig deeper. He kicked his feet against the specialty floor and stared.

"I'll see you later," Bart put a hand out to his son, shook while he touched Chuck's elbow with the other. "Blair," Bart nodded his head at the brunette and threw a "Nathaniel" across the room. The blonde didn't bother with a reply.

"Blair," Chuck repeated with none of the easiness his father had used. "Did you bring a bodyguard?" He asked with a look at Nate.

"What?" Blair stared back at the blonde. "No, he wanted to see you too but I had to talk to you first."

Chuck hit the blunted tip of his blade to a sneaker. "About?"

"I have something for you," Blair slipped a paper out of her bag. "I was going to say no on your behalf but since you changed your mind about Prom," She chose to stare at the tiny slip over that face. "I thought you might have changed your mind about Commencement too."

"My father asked me to attend the graduation ceremonies," Chuck admitted as he took the paper from her. He flipped it open with a thumb, entire face turning blank with shock when he saw what it was. "Is this a joke?"

"No," Blair promised. "It's the rules of Constance and St. Judes; the top three students by grade point average are automatically nominated for Valedictorian."

"I'm still in the top three?" Chuck's surprise deepened. He didn't think he'd done _that _much extra credit work.

"Just barely," She promised, almost wanted to match his smile as it swelled in pride. She couldn't. She needed to get this over as quickly as possible. "Would you like me to remove your name from the ballot before the speeches?" Each nominee was expected to make a speech to the student body next Thursday, the senior class voting for their selection the next day. It was significantly different from the usual practice, in regular schools, of the staff selecting a favorite. It grew out of the democratic ideals that had founded the sister and brother school.

"I don't think it matters." Chuck said dismissively as he stuffed the paper into his pocket. "I'm not exactly well liked at present," Chuck pointed out. It was true. The heckling had stopped but most of the student body, like some of his close friends, still didn't know how to relate to this new Chuck Bass.

"Okay," Blair shook her head. "I just wanted to ask you first." She didn't linger after the task was done, turned immediately away and back towards Nate.

"Blair," Chuck interrupted. He could see her fight to keep walking anyway. Her resolve cracked after three more steps. She turned back expectantly. "Are you standing too?"

Blair nodded that she was and it made him smile again. She tried not to let it affect her but it always did. It made her smile too. Nate didn't let it last. He was at her arm within a moment, Chuck waving once before fleeing into a bordering room. "What did you give him?" Nate asked immediately.

"A copy of the Valedictorial ballot."

"Why?"

"Because he's been nominated."

"Chuck Bass?" Nate couldn't help the snarl from breaking in. "How is that possible."

"His grades have improved." Blair reminded the blonde. "He'd been nearly the top of his class the entire year."

Nate only shook his head in agitated agitation. It wasn't possible. Chuck Bass was not the sort of boy to lead his class into anything but debauchery. He was not the leader of genuine achievement, or anything worthwhile. "How could Chuck Bass be the valedictorian of St. Judes school?"

"He's only been nominated."

"Chuck is..." Nate shook his head violently. "It's not possible."

"I guess you're not voting for _your best friend_," Blair arched one brow at his display, started for the door before Nate could process her chastisement.

"Of course I am," Nate bit his lip and followed. "It's just a bit much."

He watched her shake her head as she reached the stairs, pushed the metal door to them open with more force than was needed, kept her pace down them. He recognized his misstep. "Where are you going?" He asked as he caught her.

"Home."

"I thought you wanted to go to the park." Nate reminded her. "Feed the ducks."

Blair spun at the landing, brown curls moving with her, landing softly around her thin shoulders. She stared long at the blonde, had to reconcile some things. One was that the relationship between those boys was not her concern, that she ought not to feel the offenses on either side. The other was the promise she had made to Nate after their second dance the night before. If she was going to offer him a chance to prove himself then she needed to judge his success or failure on his treatment of her, rather than his treatment of anyone else. "I need to go home now," Blair snapped despite her thoughts. "But I promised you dinner later so you should come by around 5 o'clock."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Damien's casual indifference was a harder front to play as the weekdays stretched into the weekend, when the extended family began to replace the immediate, rows of cousins who always went first to Damien, offered him condolences in waves. It was harder to hide between the obvious truths. When the body arrived Damien locked himself in Eric's guest bedroom for over an hour, gentle admonishments to exit ignored entirely. He'd eventually reemerged with freshly washed hair and a speech for the funeral. He didn't let Eric read it. The younger boy only asked once. As the hours ticked downward the visit couldn't be about Eric meeting his family, or returning to his beloved homeland. It had to be about exactly what it was about. Eric saw the changes that brought to his boyfriend, everything drifted so close to the surface, left Eric waiting patiently for it all to break through. At times there were cracks, in other moments Damien was as unaffected as that first morning.

"My mother actually said the word maninizer?" Damien shook his head in bemusement, muted smile struggling against his straight lips.

"I get the feeling she was really trying to sell you to me."

"Of course she was," Damien arched a brow. "My entire family thinks you're entirely out of my league."

"Well I am," Eric admitted. It earned him a slap.

"I think they expected some tattooed misfit," Damien explained with a pull at the comforter.

Eric met the Brit's tense hands with his own, cupped one and held on tight. "You have better taste that than."

"But you don't."

"You're not a misfit," Eric assured him.

"I know that," Damien admitted. "I just feel like it around my family."

Eric crossed the Brit's pale hand with a thumb. "Why?"

Damien shook his head again, smile not nearly as bemused the second time through. "Did my mother tell you about Eton?"

"Briefly."

"Let me guess. She told you I was the stupidest person in my class."

"She did tell me you graduated at the bottom."

"She likes to point that out. Did she tell you about the programming changes too?"

Eric denied it.

"She must _really_ like you. She usually brings that up within a meeting." Damien broke his hand from Eric's to cross his arms, sat further back.

"She loves you a lot," Eric tried to meander through. "Your whole family does."

"I love them too." Damien promised genuinely. "It's just that most of the time I feel like the stupid younger brother. And I know I'm the youngest but I'm an adult now. I guess I always thought I'd have outgrown that feeling by this point."

"You're not stupid. You're an incredible artist."

"I know that," Damien answered honestly, kicked his feet further down the bed. "It's just that there's a hierarchy of achievement in my family and artistic skill, it's borders the bottom of what's important to my parents."

Eric shook his head, finally understanding how his boyfriend could have shown for three months without a single family member in attendance.

"It's okay," Damien promised. "They learned to cover their disapproval better the second time around. _Or_ they just knew I'd never do better than draw. Do you know I failed my entrance examinations for Eton? Straight across the board in every single subject."

"They let you in anyway."

"My grandfather sits on the board of admissions." Damien explained. "He convinced them to admit me on the basis of _artistic merit!_ I'd collected enough local and international prizes by twelve to fill a portfolio." Damien took a deep breath and continued. "And my family was desperate to get me into boarding school."

"You mom told me why."

"They were so worried that I was becoming another Tom," Damien admitted. "And I guess, looking back, they had every reason to expect that I would be the same. I'd run away to London to live with my brother. I was halfway to being the same when Bradley dropped me _on_ the doorstep of the boy's hall the first day of classes. It wasn't the first time he'd have to do it. The school almost voted unanimously to expel me within the first term but my art teacher convinced them not to. He was so convinced that I was the next great British artist."

"Now you've got the accolades to prove him right."

"I think I told him to fuck off," Damien admitted with a smile cracking through. "I really didn't want to go to boarding school, but they got smart you see. They got me this jerk of a senior for a tutor, modified my academic schedule, threatened to arrest Tom if he showed on campus again and Mr. Montgomery, he found me a mentor in Charles Thomson; a mixed media genius with a bend towards figurative painting. By the time the summer hit, when I moved back to Baker street. Everything had already changed for me."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate brushed a hand to his tan dress slacks. They were perfectly pressed again, stripped dress shirt cut with a navy sweater vest despite the heat. He could feel the tiny droplets of sweat form on the back of his neck but it necessary for this moment. He had roses again, had collected enough flowers the last couple weeks to progress to a first name basis with the florist. It was worth it for this moment. Blair glided down her steps, hair straightened to reach the center of her back. Her brown eyes were enormous beneath the white bowed hair band, slim figure drifting pleasantly beneath her matching dress. It floated to the knee, wide white bow bunched at one side of her waist. If she was still angry with him she'd mastered hiding it in the preceding four hours.

There was a beauty in Nate's genuine smile that made Blair match it. It was something in the way he stood at the bottom of the stairs, roses in hand, nothing concealed, no chess game made life. There was beauty in having a boy waiting for her with unhidden devotion and gifts in hand. It was right. Blair knew she had deserved it all along. So she put her hand out and let him take it. She let him kiss her cheek even though Nate Archibald didn't do those sort of things. It felt right. Blair knew there was danger in falling for the devotion itself rather than the boy offering it but, in that moment, she'd take either over none.

Nate filled their night with enough entertainment for five. He'd reserved dinner at the most popular restaurant of the moment; ordered for them both, even insisted on feeding her three forkfuls of his pasta. He'd winked as her lips met his fork. It was enough to make her blush. He followed that with a walk around the Inner Harbor as the light crested to dark. Without asking, he'd put his hands to as the goosebumps formed. She'd started to pull away on instinct but he'd threatened to cover her white dress with his navy vest if she refused. She didn't. Nate had pulled her to dancing at a new club once that sun had disappeared, sat the two of them at the front, insisted she dance until her feet pinched in their five inch heels. He'd finished with dessert at New York's premiere confectionery shop, joked over chocolate mousse that he was making up for all the time they'd wasted. Blair had taken a spoon more than she'd wanted to keep her reply caged. It would only destroy what Nate had tried so hard to attain: a very nearly perfect evening.

Blair wasn't naïve. She knew why Nate had staged their reconciliation the way he had. They were surrounded by peers at every stage, phone pinging first at the restaurant and then continuously throughout the evening. He was laying claim to her in the most public way he could. It could have disgusted her except it was the same boy who had chosen not to claim her when it had mattered most. It was a way of reversing their history. Despite his speech about the necessity of their divided experiences, Nate was desperate to wipe the slate clean. Blair wasn't as keen on erasing hers.

She'd waited until he stood at her doorstep to offer him what he'd wanted all along. She waited to kiss him until she knew there were no prying eyes, or ulterior motives. It was a short kiss, just a graze of his lips with hers, a test to see if her stomach would roll and pitch. It did both but not with the strength she had feared. She was convinced everything might be alright until Nate spoke. "This time everything is going to be so much better," He promised. "I know we were meant to be."

The thought alone made her wave him home.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Everything that made Damien Allenby was washed out in a simple black suit. He hadn't cut it with a checkered tie, there were no rips, metal or even a band of leather. He was clothed from head to toe in complete black and white, hair combed respectfully flat to match the pallbearer code of dress. The lines clawed deeper into the Brit's face as he stared into the mirror. "What did your grandfather want?" Eric asked. His boyfriend had spent another hour encamped with the elderly man that morning.

"He heard about what happened with the Sparks Foundation." How Damien had lost his entire trust in the fallout of Georgina Sparks. Damien gave a turn of his tie. He fumbled once and let it drop, faced his boyfriend through the reflecting glass. "He convinced my parents to transfer the remainder of Tom's trust to my name." He finished with a wince and another shake of his fingers.

Eric pulled him around, slipped the black silk into itself, offered a smile his boyfriend wouldn't return. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Damien promised with a final look at the mirror.

"You know you don't have to pretend with me. I've seen you cry before," Eric reminded his boyfriend.

There was a flicker of an unimpressed smile and then the Brit went mute again. He ran his fingers down the black tie to meet his boyfriend's at the bottom, intertwined them without speaking. Damien shook his head but didn't say anything, his eyes focused on the slender digits instead. Eric took his other hand, used it to cup a downturned chin and force it upward again. "Thank you," Damien said without a supplied context. There were too many examples to select from. He leaned down instead, lips just brushing when the door opened. The two boys turned in time to see the next youngest Allenby turn four shades of red.

"I'm so knocking next time," Bradley promised as he turned respectfully around, waited for the other two boys to finish. The implied permission made both lovers smile, mirth building together to one small laugh before Bradley spoke again. "Mom is ready for us," The brother explained to the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Somewhere between the second and third cup of coffee Chuck knew it wasn't going to be enough to survive the day. He hadn't slept the night before, in part because of yet another investor call, same as the two nights before. That was only a small part. Mostly it was for everything that preceded it. After the fourth set of photographs Chuck had pulled the battery from his phone, considered hiding it or simply tossing it out of the second story window. He'd done neither. He'd simply laid both on the desk in his room and returned to his bed. The problem was that he didn't need the phone. He didn't even need the photographs. His mind could craft worse. So he'd paced, cracked, put the battery back in to continue what his mind had never stopped. By the time the morning sun broke the pattern, Chuck had tripped beyond exhaustion into debilitating fatigue. He was half sprawled out on the kitchen table when Nate found him, coffee cup turning cold beside the older boy's pale fingers. Chuck's forehead was pressed to the slate counter, eyes shut firm against the morning light. He had heard Nate's greeting. It didn't exactly inspire him to pull his head up.

"Are you alright?" Nate asked because even he couldn't ignore that kind of a sight. Chuck righted himself slowly, eyes bloodshot and bleary. It made his best friend swallow hard in surprise. Was it possible that Chuck had finally fallen from the wagon?

"If I get any more investor calls at 3am then I'm going to fly to Seoul myself," Chuck complained through the early air. "My uncle says they do it on purpose, to keep your unsteady. I think they just do it because they're a bunch of assholes," Chuck decided as he laid his head again, this time against a hand with the elbow pressed to the table. He lifted the coffee cup with his other hand, drank five more mouthfuls and then refilled.

"You're still having problems?"

"Problems doesn't begin to summarize it," Chuck admitted with a momentary close of his eyes. "The whole project is about two wrong moves from tanking outright."

"Would it be a big loss?"

It wasn't the biggest loss. "Ask me again when I've had more sleep," Chuck said with a final look at his cup, he pushed it across the table. "Caffeine doesn't do anything." He decided as he rubbed his eyes again, covered them a moment while he contemplated. "I need alcohol," He admitted at last. Nate felt his heart hammer at the word. Chuck hadn't mentioned it in months. It jumped harder when his best friend clarified the suggestion. "Some really good scotch," Chuck decided as he pulled his hand away from his eyes, let the blurry pupils met his friend's. "Right now."

The scary thing was Nate could almost hear himself agree, could feel the words form. He didn't. He pulled back at the last moment and fished through his pocket. "How about this?" He suggested instead, held the joint between two fingers.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The funeral stretched nearly an hour before it was Damien's turn to speak. The Brit didn't listen much, he'd folded his speech into a tiny slip of paper and taken to flipping it between the fingers of his right hand. Eric watched him pass it over each knuckle, pull it from pinky to thumb to start again.

The tribute usually started a ceremony but Mrs. Allenby had asked to have it end instead. It was very nearly a mistake. Somewhere between the sermon and the prayers Damien had inched away, stuffed the speech to his pocket and started for the isle. He'd gone three steps down it before turning around and sitting beside his boyfriend again, tiny folds of white restarting its circuit. Eric almost expected Damien to run when they called his name but his boyfriend took the pew with grace instead.

"My parents asked me to be the family spokesman which is ironic because I'm the only family member who gets paid for not talking. So I said no," Damien promised. "My mom said yes and I'm pretty sure you can figure out who won. I prepared diligently, wrote down enough memories to fill pages but," Damien waved the creased sheet "As you can see I only have one. I figured everyone here had already heard them anyway, and those that didn't." Eric felt Damien's eyes hold his before continuing. "I'll tell them soon enough. Tom and I, our relationship was complicated but perhaps the best way I can explain it is this. He introduced me to everything I love." He explained with a smile that made Eric's heart jump. "And most of the things I hate," He finished as his eyes moved on. "I chased him into hell more times than I will ever care to count but it didn't matter how badly I got burned. I always followed him down again. I could have done it a hundred times more," Damien admitted. "If I'd the slimmest hope the would have returned with me. He was worth that," Damien promised as the tears formed. "He was worth so much more!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The afternoon heat didn't reach into the Bass townhouse. Each room had individual climate control sensors, setting them to a delightfully perfect temperature. Except the main living room. Lewis was sure it was set too cool. Then again, maybe it wasn't the thermostat. Maybe it was the deterioration of something that had been so simple. Lewis had no particular preference for easy things, no particular enjoyment of the complex. What she had was a general inexperience with life. She didn't like a lot of things and foremost to that list was commitment. She'd committed over ten years of her life to research by committing to few things beyond it. Person or place? It was easier to run. She'd been able to manage the first by near avoidance, the second by immersing herself in an atmosphere that changed with the school year. It might have seemed strange considering she preached openness and honesty at every breath. It some ways it was. That was before you truly thought about it. If you knew her history then you couldn't be surprised.

Lewis stared at Bart over the edge of her novel, just one quick glance and her eyes were back to the page. There was something so undecipherable about him. It almost made her wish she'd screwed her way through at least a year of undergrad. She'd had enough offers. Who needed to graduate with a 99.9% average if you ended a failure at everything else? Lewis was sure that she'd have encountered one Bart in the boys that trailed her around each of the three campuses. If she'd just lived a bit then she would know what to do now. Then again, she could always start now, take the initiative and the risk. She tossed the novel to the side table, it fell with enough force for Bart to turn her way. "Do you want to go out to dinner? Tonight?" Lewis threw it out with an awkwardness that matched her feeling on being the initiator.

"I have the Father-Son dinner tonight," He reminded the blonde, went back to his novel with as much casualness as he'd used for the reminder. Lewis counted the seconds in her mind, the moments before Bart realized her intent and offered her an alternative. His eyes were back up within ten, smile hopefully proving he'd understood. "Why don't you come along?" Bart asked.

He obviously didn't understand anything. "Am I the _father_ or the _son_?"

"There'll be wives and mothers there too," Bart explained. Both implications made Lewis grab her novel again, hide behind a different type of cover. "Lily was planning to go with Eric before everything happened and I know Chuck would love to have you there."

Lewis glared at the printed page, total confusion playing across her well formed features. Was there something genuinely wrong with her? Or maybe him? Could she have been more obvious? "_I think I'm good_," Lewis decided when she couldn't take it anymore. She stood and started walking away.

"You sure?" Bart tried again.

Lewis paused less than a second, turned only the slightest look back. "Yeah, I am!" She promised.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun was so stifling hot that Serena wished it was a bottle of water dangling from one hand rather than a prayer book. Her throat was parched, tight even but it wasn't just the heat, it was probably more the sight before her. Damien was paired with his four remaining brothers and one uncle, each cornering one side of the black coffin, carrying it the short distance from the chapel to the churchyard. It had been a traditional ceremony from the prayers over the body to holy communion to the red and white pall that blew in the morning breeze. Damien wore a pair of thick sunglasses, wide band of black concealing more than his eyes. Serena walked beside her brother, hand joined with his, show of solidarity that came, as it always did, naturally between the two. Once they reached the graveside, Eric was the first to squeeze her hand. She understood why. She had admitted her thoughts as the morning light cascaded through the outer gardens, same breeze turning the cup of coffee she had held in one hand cold.

Despite a general atheism between the Van der Woodsen's they'd spend the previous evening at a prayer over the body. It had done what Rufus supposed it might. Not at first, at first Serena had thought of Chuck because he had been the one so close to laying like that. That alone might have been enough but her brother had leaned over and whispered. "Now do you understand." He never said more. It could have had the taint of 'I told you so' but Eric never did. To see the row of genuine mourners at the front, to hear the whispers of 'waste' from behind. It was a frightening glimpse of a could-have-been past. It was enough to have Serena offer up a genuine prayer; this time for herself. It might have inappropriate, could have been a mark of a lingering self-centredness, but Serena had never caught a glimpse of the staggeringly high Tom Allenby. So she chose to see it as a mark of growth instead, or the promise that she'd rounded the final corner and was left with a future that stretched straight.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

St. Judes had rented one of the largest halls on the Upper East Side for their annual Father-Son dinner. It was expansive enough to accommodate every male student and at least one parent. The space were a neutral white, hanging blue fabric adding colour from the roof to the top edge of each wall. One side of the venue was lined with floor to ceiling doors, they'd all been swung open to reveal a heavily manicured exterior garden, unnatural heat muted by the early evening breeze. Nate chose to stare at the bolts of blue, or the rows of shrubbery that started from the edge of each white paneled door. He chose to focus on anything but his father's never ending praise for the only Bass son. "I must say that I always knew Chuck had the potential," The Captain assured their small party. It was the third such rendition with barely changing vocabulary. Chuck had the decency to blush. Nate tried to cover his growing anger with another sip of tonic. "But to be selected as Valedictorian!"

"He's been nominated," Nate corrected with a swallow.

"Just to be nominated is quite the achievement."

Nate took another sip and rolled his eyes. Wasn't the speech a bit inappropriate, or at least unoriginal. It was Valedictorian, not the Academy Awards.

"And to be personally invited to attend Yale."

Nate stabbed at his steamed asparagus. Of course, Chuck had to let that little nugget slip out over appetizers. Though, Nate had to concede that his best friend looked more embarrassed than impressed at this point. "Is must have bothered you," Nate tried to deflect to Bart. "That Chuck didn't chose West Point like _you wanted_."

Bart shook his head to deny. "It didn't matter to me what school Chuck chose," Bart promised. "After all, I went to NYU and managed to turn out well enough."

Nate squeezed his fork until his knuckles turned white. That was too much. Bart Bass, the epitome of unrealistic expectations and demands could trivialize the difference between Yale and NYU. Nate must have stepped into an alternative universe. The kind of parallel existence where he would actually envy Chuck Bass for having Bart Bass as his father. Nate sliced the floral tops from each stalk of asparagus, divided those into even smaller pieces. He'd lost his appetite fifteen minutes ago.

"Still," Howard drew back to the original point. "It still must make you proud to see Chuck chose such a _distinguished _institution."

"His father did the paperwork for him," Nate finally snapped through the happy family moment. It was enough to curl his stomach. The rest were stunned to silence, stared at the blonde enough to make Nate uncomfortable.

"No I didn't," Bart countered.

Chuck took one deep breath at the lie, shook his head as he eyed the older Bass. "I didn't write a letter."

"I did the letter," Bart admitted. "As your father. It's why I enclosed the business plan, so that they'd have a sample of your writing as well. Jack gave me the proposal he made you write before he agreed to work with you."

Chuck was stunned. "It was _my_ business plan?"

"Of course," Bart shook his head. "Don't you think they'd notice the difference between a talented youthful entrepreneur and a seasoned professional?"

That was the final straw! Nate couldn't take it anymore. He shoved his chair abruptly back and stalked away from the table and the perfectly affectionate Bass family. The other three watched him push through the crowd, Chuck the only one rising to follow his best friend.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The ease with which the doorman waved her forward made Lewis count the number of times she'd visited the building. It surely couldn't have been more than twice, well expect that time after brunch and once to return Lily's sunglasses. Okay so maybe she'd been to the building four times and maybe she'd begun to consider Lily a friend but that wasn't her fault. Lewis hadn't intended on a friendship with Bart's ex-wife. In fact, she was sure having one bordered on inappropriate. It's just that Lewis was no better in breaking friendships than forming them. She never instigated any kind of relationship, friendly or otherwise. It's how she'd managed to spend most of her life generally alone. She was always the chased and she'd perfected her marathoner pace years ago.

After their discussion on the balcony, Lily had been the one to track Lewis down at Clay, to suggest coffee and then brunch and then dinner with Eric. Lewis had just kind of fallen into it. Standing in the plain white entrance hall Lewis understood why she shouldn't have. It made it too easy to do exactly what she was about to, particularly after Lily greeted her with such enthusiasm, waved her through to the other room without question and asked her what was on her mind when Lewis didn't return a single bit of the energy. "I know this might be awkward," Lewis bit her lip, briefly considered retracing her footsteps right out the front door. "But I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions about Bart."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck found his best friend at the edge of the patio, brooding into a pot of petunias. Nate didn't turn as the older boy entered the space, just kept glaring at the broad purple flowers. Nate never acknowledged him, not even after Chuck called his name. He just crossed his arms over his formidable chest. "Are you alright?" Chuck asked at last.

"Why wouldn't I be alright?" Nate asked. Why? Because he'd traded places with his best friend, become the screwed up loser who fought with his father while Chuck had become the golden boy who succeeded at everything he tried.

"I'm sorry about that," Chuck said. "I know things haven't been going well with your dad."

"Maybe he has a point," Nate decided abruptly. "Maybe boys like us are supposed to go to Ivy League schools."

"I thought you wanted to go to UCLA."

"I don't want Dartmouth," Nate detoured. "But I think I could go to _Yale_."

"To Yale?" Chuck reflected, that gnawing distress spreading from the blonde to him.

"I mean why not? Blair is going to be there. You're going to be there. Why would I want to go anywhere else?" Chuck couldn't say a single thing through the knot that was forming within his throat. He swallowed hard as his eyes rounded, tried to breath as Nate considered his impulse. "I'm sure I could get my grandfather to pull some strings. After all," Nate faced his friend at last. "Not all of us can get in on our _intellect_."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The gathering wasn't particularly large, in fact aside from Serena and Eric the wake was limited to family. It's just that Damien had a large extended family. They seemed to fill every inch of the largest entertainment room, two tables of comforting finger foods largely untouched between. Serena took another sip of her wine and circled the room looking for her brother. Damien's sisters-in-law were charming but they were still nearly ten years older than her. So she arched her back straight, and stared through the throng of people for a blonde head. She caught him walking through the crowd straight for her.

"Have you seen Damien?" Eric asked immediately.

"Not since the internment." Serena arched her back again and joined her brother in surveying the room. It was hard to make out Damien in a room of similar hair and eyes. "When did you..."

"At the internment." Eric responded with a knowing look. That was over an hour ago now.

"Why don't you..." Her brother had the phone out before she could finish the idea. He pushed down one and listened for the indie music. Despite the relative quiet of the room he couldn't hear a thing. When the voicemail picked up it reinforced what Eric had already guessed. It made him reconsider the wish he'd made at JFK. Then he'd wished Damien would save his meltdown for England. Now Eric was reconsidering. He was, after all, in a foreign country with a potentially missing boyfriend.

"I'll check for his car," Serena offered.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart had disappeared into the study on their return home. He had another overnight trip to Toronto in a few days. He'd been travelling a lot the last couple weeks. Chuck knew why that was. The older man had barely flown out for work when Chuck was at rehab, had taken only essential trips those first couple weeks back. Now all those meetings Bart had rescheduled had joined together to keep the eldest Bass preoccupied. Realizing it nearly kept Chuck on the outside, as it was he knocked and waited for his father to offer him entrance. Bart was hiding behind a stack of files, there were at least twenty, employee files with sticky notes attached to every inch. Bart's small black print filled each of the neon scraps of paper. Bart took a last look at one before tearing each of the slips of paper out and tossing it to the rejected pile.

"Still haven't decided yet?" Chuck asked.

That was the other problem. The current Vice President of Bass industries was set to retire after eight years of faithful service. Bart was supposed to shortlist his replacement and put it before the board within the next week. "It's all the same people I considered in 2002," Bart admitted with another flip. He rolled his eyes after two paragraphs and tossed it atop the growing stack of rejections. "How can I help you?"

"Would you happen to have a copy of the letter you sent to Yale?" Chuck asked. "I'd like to read it." Bart fished through his drawer to find it, pulled the file that bore his sons name, pushed through the line or report cards until he found a single slip of white paper.

Chuck took it without speaking, put eyes to print with a mix of hesitation and anticipation. The second was rewarded and the first washed out within the first paragraph,

_November 17, 2008_

_Dear Dean Baraby,_

_Please accept this as letter on behalf of my son Charles Bartholomew Bass. You might question why I am writing on his behalf. Do not take it as evidence that he does not want to attend Yale. There are many reasons Charles would chose it above all others. So why doesn't he write himself? Charles does not recognize himself for what he is; a brilliant young man with immeasurable potential._

Chuck leaned against the desk as his eyes reached the second paragraph. There were four more sections, each winding from the beginning to the present, from the preschooler who could add solely in his mind and read words at random to the teenager who could manage his own club. The paragraphs stretched outward from the concrete, exclaimed all the virtues Chuck had once again forgotten he had and did so in the most affected way.

Chuck could have dismissed the entire lot. It was, after all, an admissions paper. They were always layered with praise of self, an attempt to sell oneself to the highest bidding. A year ago Chuck would have rolled his eyes and tossed it away. He didn't need to anymore. He'd heard the words enough in life. He knew that each sentence was layered in a hope that was neither blind nor false but based in genuine belief of potential. There was enough in the following paragraphs to balance the layers of disappointment his father had always expressed. It didn't erase everything that had happened between them, nothing ever would. It just recast their years of opposition in a new light. Chuck understood. His father had never assumed Chuck would end a failure. Bart had believed Chuck would eventually right himself. He was sickened in watching his son lengthen that finish line with every rebellion. And those failures? There was no additional page to justify each and every notation in Chuck's permanent record. There were no long explanations or excuses. Bart had summarized his son's entire history in a single sentence.

_Charles has made a lot of mistakes but I think that all men destined for greatness must._

Chuck folded the two pages when he finished them, held them over the desk but didn't put them down right away. He shook his head instead, a happy contentedness working its way through each of his senses. It wasn't only the letter. Part of it was the way his father had watched him read it. He hadn't gone back to his mountain of paperwork but pushed back in his chair and stared instead. His father was invested too. "I forgive you," Chuck decided as he laid the white sheets to a corner. "Everything, for every mistake you have ever made as a father, to me," Chuck promised. "To mom, _for mom_. For every single thing." Chuck almost didn't register the words until they came. He'd never expected to offer such blanket pardon but the words fell naturally. Then he understood. His father was another great man: he had that same right to make mistakes, to screw up, and fail.

Bart leaned back in his chair as the words washed over. He was overcome, shocked to attain what he'd wanted all along. "I feel like I need a cigar," Bart suggested into the awkward pause.

"I'm not opposed."

There was just something in the way his father smiled as he pulled out the box, the way Chuck felt himself smiling back. For a moment the cascading swirl of his present life calmed and every part of it felt right.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Okay, you know why that took so long to post? I have a mental block to writing NB :) I was reduced to youtubing NB to get enough motivation to suffer through that scene and now I'm traumatized. They didn't used to bother me that much before the end of S2. I've actually been cutting all the NB from my outline so far but they had to get at least one scene in before it's all over :P_

_BrittyKay – I don't like NB either._

_Bradshaw-esque – It's a genuine concern (Aidan will have to work with Chuck when he's older). Remember how angry Bart was in TH because he did that much work with Andrew Wiltshire. L does want to make it work with B though I promise :P Though going to Lily for advice, wtf is she thinking? I really should get my work beta'd but it's a bit late with only three more chapters to go after three books.  
_

_Odyjha – B can never be truly done with C. But she's smarter now. If you notice when she starts to feel unbalanced she's pulling back now instead of continuing through until she falls off the tracks too. (remember with the alcohol at school before Chuck punched D)._

_Annablake – Of course you get your happy ending. I'll spoil you. Chuck realizes he's gay and ends up running off with Damien, Eric turns straight and marries Jenny, Serena and Blair decide to share Nate and Vanessa throws herself at Dan in depression but he decides to do the older woman thing and hook up with Lewis *giggling like mad* Honestly, the first happy ending is next post and I think everyone will approve of who it is. As for NB, Blair's not in love with N, there are no lingering feelings there. She's just wants someone to genuinely want her right now. If C could show her then I think she'd drop N without a second thought._

_Flipped – I like CV as a secondary ship to CB, meaning it has to involve feelings that don't compete with the feelings CB have for each other. I hope I accomplished that._

_Blair – I can't promise that Lewis will move out but I can promise that she and Bart are not done yet._

_Tomboy-girl12 – I really liked NV too because it seemed like V really brought out something that was authentic in N (probably the only connection he's had yet to do that). But what they did to them this season, especially at the end completely destroyed my love of that ship. V was used and abused by N this season and she took it every time. It disgusted me! I didn't even realize how invested I was in NV until after the finale._

_Thebarstool – Thank you for the amazing praise :) I have to say though that I actually like Dan. I haven't liked where they've gone with his character in S2 in some ways. But I generally enjoy the character of Dan because he can be hypocritically judgmental but at the same time, he's endearing because he truly doesn't set out to hurt others. He cares about people and he has (had) morals. As for Serena, I like how supportive she can be of Blair but I have huge issues with infidelity. That's why I'm not a huge fan of either Serena or Nate I think (or Lily)...I used my memory erase for Amelia but at least C suffered for it. S, N and L never had to suffer the consequences of theirs. I'm not surprised I made mistakes with Yale. I'm from Canada so I based it more on UBC here._

_Princess Persephone – Yep, Nate is the douchiest douche of all time. I'm going to need to create new rude adjectives to apply to him after the next post._

_Up Next: Go buy another 100 pins for your Nate voodoo doll. Someone gets everything they wanted and truthfully deserved. Is it the first of our Happy Endings? You betcha :) Unfortunately it's not the only thing ending next post._


	54. Chapter Twenty One Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-One – Part Two**

Eric had waited another hour after Serena's confirmation that the Porsche was gone to approach anyone. They were preoccupied with the events of the day and Eric hardly needed to add another layer of disturbance to an otherwise disturbing day. In fact, he didn't approach anyone in the end, it was Damien's father that approached him.

"Have you seen Damien?" Robert Allenby asked as the crowd began to disperse.

"He's gone," Eric admitted.

"Did you talk to him...?"

"He's not picking up his phone." Eric explained and the father winced. "Should I be worried about him?"

Robert shook his head. "No, he'll be fine. Though he will be gone a few days. It's his way of recharging."

Eric shook his head in defeat. He had guessed as much. He wasn't ignorant of the similarities between his boyfriend and brother. At least they weren't all encompassing. If he took Chuck as principal though, that meant Damien could have gone anywhere. What were the chances of him returning within four days? In time for their return flight? Eric took a deep breath, recognized that he'd only half considered Damien would be returning with the Van der Woodsens anyway. "Do you know where he might have gone?"

"London. He always goes there, loses himself in the hustle and bustle. He loves the city. In fact." Robert Allenby turned to the crowd of mourners. "Bradley," he called, put a hand up to wave the brunette over. "Did you strip the keys before you mailed them to your brother?" He hadn't. It made Robert put a hand to Eric's shoulder. "I know where he is," The father promised with one look back at his son. "Bradley, can you get Tom's keys off your mother.'

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was 5am and Lewis was already prepared for her morning run when she entered Bart's study. He was finalizing the financial statements for the new development in Toronto. It didn't stop him from looking up, eyes following the black headband that flipped Lewis' bangs behind and forced him to meet those green eyes straight on. She was wearing a loose yellow tank with wide straps and a pair of little black running shorts that showed the definition in each leg. Bart felt his eyes linger on them a little too long. He couldn't help himself. "I wanted to tell you that I'm moving out today."

That made Bart's eyes snap straight upward. "You're what!"

"I told you last week that I was going to move out. I already have a place in the city."

"I told you that you could stay here."

"I don't think that's the best choice."

"I want you to stay here!"

"But why?" Lewis asked, eyes flickering briefly to her runners. "Why do you want me to stay? Because I'm good for you and Chuck?" She supplied his earlier answer. It feed directly into the suspicions that her conversation with Lily had only built higher.

"Yes."

"And is that the only reason?" Lewis took a breath as she asked it, tried to calm her nerves which built as he stayed quiet. She counted from one to twenty, jaw turning firmer with every passing second. "Why did you sleep with me Bart?" She finally asked with a firmer tone, met his eyes without flinching. "I don't even care if you say it's because I'm hot and you like my legs, but if it was out of some sense of gratitude or some kind of game to get me to stay here then I deserve to..."

"You do have incredible legs," Bart tried the detour.

It didn't make Lewis smile. Maybe if he'd prefaced it as the reason but he hadn't. The rationale still lingered between them. "I'll make it really simple. Did you sleep with me for the same reason you married Lily?"

Bart never admitted it but he might as well have once his eyes closed in defeat. Lewis had to laugh, even though the tears were pooling in her eyes. It was so twisted, so unbelievably humiliating that it was almost humorous. She had been completely played. She had thought that he genuinely liked her. Then again, why would Bart Bass like some orphaned university student, pretty or not? Lewis stood taller as she turned, bit her lip to distract from the pressure building within, walked stiffly to the door and final escape.

"Lewis," Bart called her name as she moved to walk through it. The pressure receded a moment with the consideration that she might have misread the situation again. She tried to turn without expectations but they came regardless. "That thing we talked about," Bart had to ask. "Could you help me with it before you leave?"

"Oh my god," She shook her head as the disbelief expanded beyond all common sense. "I have the _worst _taste in men!" She offered in parting, nearly sprinted from the room and down the main stairwell.

Bart stayed at his desk a few moments, stabbing sense of what he assumed to be guilt working its way from his sides to the bottom of his throat. It crawled up, threatening to bring his breakfast with it. This was a whole other level of misplayed. The realization had him out of his seat, down to the staircase. He caught a flash of blonde at the bottom; yelled "Lewis," through the morning quiet. She didn't even pause. He couldn't blame her. He followed her down the stairs instead, black loafers banging as he took them two at a time. He ducked his head in the kitchen, brushed quickly through the main room when he heard the bang of the front door. When he opened the door she was already halfway down the street.

That woman could run. She increased the distance by the second, set a pace Bart had no chance of matching. He figured there wasn't much point in trying to catch a marathoner.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Damien's tie had been tossed to the coffee table, black loafers lounging on top, crushing the meter of black silk. The suit jacket had been thrown to the floor beside the door, top button of his white shirt undone and flattened hair no longer hanging straight. The cigarette in his hand dangled too close to the pristine white couch, thick stench of tobacco smoke proving it hadn't been the first. He stared through the haze when his boyfriend entered. "Hi," Damien said with a low tone.

"Hi," Eric offered back.

"I had to leave," Damien admitted with another drag.

Eric shook his head. "How are you feeling?" He asked because 'are you alright' never seemed to lead to anything but 'fine'.

"I'm actually doing okay," Damien promised. The way he said it, the tiny flicker of surprise on the older boy's face, it proved that maybe Damien had expected a meltdown too. "I think I've been mourning my brother all along. But I still had to leave," Damien butted the cigarette on the glass tabletop. "It just got to be a bit much."

Eric didn't add to burden, just hiked off his own loafers and toured the main room of the two bedroom flat. It was elegant with pristine white carpets to match the furniture, green motif played out over the walls and adding decorative bamboo to several corners. "So this is where you spent your summers."

"No, I never lived here." Damien denied it. "I lived in a drug den with burn marks in the carpet, holes in the walls, a towering stack of old newspapers in one corner and the constant stench of rot. This," Damien stared from the right to left, lit up another cigarette for good measure, "This is beautiful. It's amazing what new carpets, furniture and walls can do," Damien said it with a wistful edge. "It's too bad that people aren't made out of wool and plaster, that we can't replace the parts of ourselves that are damaged as easily."

Eric turned back from the far wall, leaned his body over his boyfriend from behind the back of the couch, ran his hand down the other boy's chest and hugged him full. "Are you really going to be alright?"

Damien nodded, hair brushing Eric's face with every shake. "I just wish I could have been there when it happened," he admitted. "If someone saved him then Tom would have had another chance to change his mind about everything." Damien touched one hand with the other as he said it, leaned back further into the hollow of his boyfriend's neck. "Oh who I am kidding? I'd probably have just screwed things up again. He probably would have died in front of me."

"Shh," Eric whispered, squeezed tighter, laid his chin on the other boy's head. He stared at the artificial fireplace, at the crawling vines that decorated the mantle and the canvas that sat in a thick black frame above it. It was a stunning self-portrait of Damien at twelve or thirteen years of age, not as technically perfect as his later pieces, but all the elements of later brilliance were evident. It was a close framing of the artist's face though the presentation was obscured. Damien had his arms crossed in front, covering all but one corner of his mouth. One hand dangled off the rim of a black bowler's hat, pulled low to conceal half of each green eye. It was an exercise in perspective, in detail and shadow and light. It was sketched in charcoal, paint added only to detail certain elements, the black of the bowler hat, the green of Damien's eyes, the brown of the leather bands that ran in sequence up and down both of his arms. It was intriguing. "Are you selling the portrait with the apartment?" Eric asked. "You might want to hold onto it. If you become the first influential artist of the 21th Century," Eric quoted the catch phrase that had started to trail his boyfriend's name. "It might just be worth something."

"It's not mine," Damien admitted without a look upward. It wasn't. The Allenby matched but Eric could see it preceded by a T rather than a D.

_That's when Eric understood it all._

Damien shrugged away from the embrace, grabbed a bouquet of English daisies that lay on the coffee table. "I thought I would buy you flowers....for being there for me," Damien stared at the white bulbs, eyes widening and then wincing shut. "What was I thinking?" He asked and tossed the daisies back down. "Why the fuck would you want flowers?"

Eric laughed because once upon a time he'd done the same.

"I have something else," Damien said. He grabbed his red plaid shoulder bag from beneath the table, pulled out an envelope. It was thick, manilla, unimpressive except for the large crest stamped across the front. It made Eric step from behind the couch, circle it and take a seat beside his boyfriend. "I know this is probably crazy," Damien admitted as he handed it to Eric. "Because you're not supposed to find the person you're meant to spend the rest of your life with at eighteen, never mind sixteen but I can't help feeling like I have."

Eric felt all the blood rush to his face at the words. He grew fully lightheaded when he unsealed the envelope and the acceptance package for Eton School for Boys fell into his hands. He couldn't say a thing, just stared at his boyfriend in disbelief.

"You'd be in Berkshire and I'd be at Oxfordshire, but it's not _that_ far, maybe a thirty minute drive." When Eric still couldn't form any words Damien grew nervous. "You don't have to feel the same about me," Damien offered. "You can hate me in six months and that's okay, find some scholarly Brit to replace me but if you chose to go to Eton, then you're pretty well guaranteed acceptance to any program at Cambridge."

"How did you even manage this?" Eric asked as he flipped through the orientation package.

"You could thank Chuck," Damien explained. "He's freakishly good at forging his father's signature. He got me all your paperwork last fall. Or the economy which opened more sixth form admissions, or my grandfather who veered through all the interview and examination process." Damien ran a finger along his boyfriend's hand. "I think he was worried you'd show in ripped jeans and a black tank top. You could thank lots of people but you should just thank yourself. You're the one who's been top of your class since birth."

Eric could feel the tears of relief begin to form at the corners of his eyes. He had assumed he'd be returning from this trip alone. Damien was done with his show, leaving Eric his last tie to New York. The blonde had watched his boyfriend's unmasked joy in returning home and guessed Damien would never want to leave again. Now he didn't have to. It left only one unresolved question. "Does this mean you love me?" Eric asked, smug smile as he said it.

Damien arched one brow at the idea that there could be a question. "You're Eric Van der Woodsen. How could anyone not love you within five minutes of meeting you?"

"_Could you say it then_?"

"What? You mean? Of course I love you."

Eric couldn't help but laugh again. He'd figured he'd at least get a dinner to mark the moment, or a CD or something. Then again, he did get admission to Eton and that had to trump anything else.

Damien realized he was tanking the moment royally. He tried to correct, shifted his position on the couch until he was facing his boyfriend directly. He cupped the younger boys face between both hands and lowered his voice, chased away the astonishment at Eric's assumption that he felt anything but all encompassing adoration. "_I love you_. I couldn't help but love you and believe me I did try at first. But you're _perfect_ in every conceivable way. And the fact that _you love me_," Damien had to shut his eyes a moment to calm the swell that built every time he thought of it. "That you chose _me_, and forgave _me_, and love me _still_. _That _is the most amazing feeling in the world."

Eric figured that being loved by Damien Allenby, that must be a _close_ second because the smile that was cracking his face, he was pretty sure it was too large to be humanly possible. The brunette's matching one, it was too engaging to be pulled away from. It drew you in, to the point of touching noses and lips, to pulled ties and unbuttoned shirts. Eric had made it three buttons down before Damien closed his hands over the younger boys and shook his head. "Just you," He promised with the unnatural arching of one brow, the mischievous pull of lip that Eric had loved first of all.

That was the moment Eric knew, having someone in love with you was going to be downright awesome!

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate and Chuck were huddled in a doorway four steps from the front of St. Judes. They ought to have been further away but it was a Monday and Mr. Prescot was the morning supervisor on Mondays. He never did anything beyond stick his head out once at quarter after eight. It was the safe day. So Nate smoked up freely, offered to his shorter friend. Chuck refused. It annoyed the blonde when it probably shouldn't have. It was just more evidence of Perfect Chuck. That was the boy that Nate wanted to put to death already. "So I talked to my grandfather last night," Nate said. "And he's pretty sure that he can get me into Yale."

Chuck could feel his eyes round despite his attempt to stay neutral. He had known that Vanderbilt Sr. could. The man had just completed a multimillion dollar renovation to the hall that bore the family name, that had to be enough to manipulate an admission or two. Chuck's sole hope had been that the passing comment was just that: passing. It was a reasonable hope. Nate had talked beaches and blondes ever since his admission to UCLA.

"In fact," Nate smiled wide. "He's happy I'm choosing the Vanderbilt tradition over the Archibald one."

"You'd really prefer Connecticut winters to California summers?"

"I _will _miss the beaches," Nate admitted. "But maybe I could get Blair to wear her bikini collection for me," Nate finished as he held the joint out to his friend again, smug smile passing over the blonde's lips the moment Chuck took it. Nate guessed he would. He'd finally figured out the button to push.

Chuck had managed three inhalations before he heard the word _Blair_. He put a finger to his chin as his eyes caught Kat and Is surveying another senior. It didn't take a sentence for him to figure out what they were doing. They were taking an informal vote of each senior girl, getting a feel for who they were voting Valedictorian. Chuck handed the joint back to his friend as he called them over, asked for the clipboard and the slip of paper on top of it.

"We're not surveying the boys," Kat pointed out.

It's not what Chuck was interested in. In fact, he could care less about his competition. But these three rows of numbers, they were as much intriguing as horrifying. There were no slashes in Megan Walker's column, that was hardly surprising. The surprising part was that Nelly Yuki's column outdid Blair's by two to one. "How is this possible?" Chuck snapped at the shorter of the two girls.

"Blair's not as popular as she used to be," Kat explained. "She's pissed a lot of people off."

"She definitely picked the wrong month to give up her power," Is explained further.

Chuck just shook his head in disbelief, passed the papers back to Blair's minions and refused the pot Nate tried to offer again. He marched away from them all, continued halfway down the street before he opened his phone and dialed the number for Andrew Tyler.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun had dipped somewhere below the horizon by the time Eric and Damien found themselves a bed. They'd spend most of the afternoon in the living room, the kitchen, the shower of the joined bathroom. They'd guaranteed that if the Allenbys truly wanted to sell this apartment, it was going to need a whole other type of cleaning. Somewhere between the Egyptian cotton sheets Eric decided he didn't want them to. He loved every part of the space: the high ceilings, the cleanliness, the lightness. "You should buy this apartment," Eric decided as Damien examined every finger of the younger boy's hand with his own, traced the wrist with feather light strokes. Perhaps it was too early to be sentimental but Eric wanted to preserve every part of this moment.

"I already own it," Damien reminded the younger boy as he kissed the inside of his wrist. "I can just chose to not sell it."

"Would you?" Eric asked hesitantly. That space had to hold as many bad memories for Damien as the good ones they'd just formed.

"Would you stay with me?" Damien asked. "In London. Stay forever?"

"It's negotiable." Eric promised. It earned him a slap across the back of his head. "Would you do that thing you did earlier every day?"

"It's possible."

"And twice on Sundays?" That had Damien going for the slap again. Eric ducked to the side, he was getting better at evading, at arching his brow in victory. "Maybe three times." Damien retaliated by lunging at the younger boy but Eric evaded again, leading Damien to shift his weight too far and start the tumble from the bed. He reached as he fell, pulled Eric down with him by the arm. The two boys fell in a heap on the floor. "That's going to cost you four times," Eric explained confidently.

"What is it going to take for you to just shut up and agree?"

"You know that thing you did earlier?" Eric teased.

Damien shook his head in defeat, kissed the younger boy in final resignation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It had been only two days between the brief meeting at the fencing club and Monday at lunch but the change in Chuck was there. It was subtle but Blair could see it anyway. She studied the way he sat on the lower courtyard wall, feet dangling into open space. He'd defected back to his usual seat sometime last week, sat alone since Eric was abroad and Nate chose to sit with her and Dan. They made an unusual threesome.

Blair had been initially relieved by Chuck's defection. After the cookie incident Blair knew how important it was for her ignore the untamed brunette. She just couldn't. Nate and Dan attempted a conversation around her but her eyes kept going back to that wall, mind kept trying to figure out what was different, what was wrong. The answers didn't come, the gnawing suspicions just cut deeper inside. After a time she couldn't hold the question back anymore. She turned to Nate and put it to words. "What's wrong with Chuck?" Blair asked even though she knew she was admitting to a lot. That her eyes had been following the brunette rather than the blonde, that she was still more concerned about him than anyone else.

"Chuck is fine," Nate snapped and Blair knew she'd misstepped. It couldn't make her stop, not when she was so convinced that he wasn't.

"It doesn't seem like he is."

"Why do you think something is wrong with him?"

Blair couldn't define it in fact. It was the crawling sensation that had started when she first saw him in the courtyard. The way he smoked. The progression of cigarette to chin to side. When he was calm it dangled at his hip, burning halfway to nothing before he remembered to lift it again. When his life bordered on unmanageable, that's when he kept a thumb to his chin, ring of smoke always adding a further cloud to his eyes. It wasn't definable except for the feeling she got. "I don't know."

"He's just tired," Nate promised. "His sleep keeps getting disturbed for investor calls. That's all."

Blair tried to believe the blonde's words but they didn't lift her dragging suspicions.

"You need to let him be Blair," Nate swore firmly. "If you want us to truly work, then you're going to have to put aside your fascination with Chuck."

Blair was surprised to find out how much she still didn't want to. She tried to suppress it, knew that she was being unfair to the blonde. So she smiled and nodded her head, and if her thoughts betrayed her, well they just needed better management.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was sure his eyes slowed as they took in the half bare room. Lewis's green haven had been transformed to a mess, cardboard boxes littering each corner, toys and clothing piled beside them, most fallen over with the help of a small hand. Chuck was sure his heart slowed and his breathing. Everything slowed to a muted crawl when he realized that Lewis was leaving. Aidan jumped onto tottering feet the moment he saw Chuck enter the room, was pulling at his pant leg before Chuck could think of a question.

"Duck! Duck!" Aidan pulled harder.

"Listen kid," Chuck started down at the toddler. "The name is Chuck!"

Aidan shook his little two year old head and dragged him towards the closet. Lewis was in it, pulling linens from the top and tossing them haphazardly into an open cardboard box. She turned when she realized her son was no longer alone. "Chuck," Lewis' face went a little blank. She had been planning to speak to him first.

"Duck! Duck!" Aidan pointed down at four piece chunky wood puzzle that was half completed. He picked up one of the remaining piece. It actually was a duck. "Tuck!" Aidan smiled up at the older boy with childlike pride.

Chuck just shook his head and stared back at Lewis. "You're moving."

"I meant to talk to you first but, yes, we are."

"Since when?"

"I've had an apartment for a little while," She admitted.

"Why do you need one?" Chuck asked. "I thought you liked it here."

"It's been great," Lewis promised. "But I'm done what I set out to do."

"Which was?"

"I offered to help you and your father work things out and you have."

"That doesn't mean you have to leave."

"I have my own life to get back to," Lewis reminded the younger boy. "And you and Bart don't need me anymore."

"That's not true!"

"It will be," Lewis promised him as she finished clearing another shelf and closed the box lid. "You just need to sit down and talk things through with you father," Lewis promised him as she taped the cardboard flaps shut. They were already three boxes ahead of the last move. Chuck needed to stop buying so much for her son. "He _really _loves you Chuck. So much," She shook her head reassuringly. "He would do _anything_ for you."

"So that's it?" Chuck asked in disbelief.

Lewis stopped packing at the implication, turned back to the son more sympathetically. "Of course not. I'm just moving three blocks over. To the Wellington, by Central Park." Chuck knew the building. It was three down from Blair's. "You can come by anytime you want," she promised as she stepped by. She was out the door, yelled for Helga down the hall before turning back into her room. Chuck watched her pack a few more minutes and realized that Lewis was entirely not herself. She was moving too fast, darting around her son when she usually stopped every time she passed for a hug or a kiss or a comment. She was genuinely upset.

Chuck ducked out of the room, grabbed at Lewis' nanny as the portly young woman tried to sweep by. "What happened here?"

Helga took a quick look in the nursery and shook her head in disappointment. "The former Mrs. Bass happened," Helga said with a knowing look.

"What?"

"Ms. Smith went to talk to her last night, returned in a foul mood."

The surge of anger was so overwhelming that it crafted dark spots into his vision, made him forget everything else he ought to remember as he stormed down the three flights of stairs and tossed his front door open. He didn't stop for his jacket, for his wallet or keys or phone. He walked the two blocks to the Van der Woodsen townhouse in a wave of fury. He didn't notice the evening breeze, the newly planted roses or the line of laughing children. He was too furious to focus on anything but the white building that stretched out in front of him. The doorman waved him through, Lily was waiting at their door when he entered the apartment, Rufus keeping watch behind. The addition of the Brooklynite only added to the preexisting temper.

"What did you tell her?" Chuck yelled the moment he stepped into the room.

"Chuck," Lily offered a soft tone. It didn't even mute the glare on the younger boy's face. Rufus stood to intervene but Lily sent him away.

"Did you tell her about Andrew Tyler," Chuck guessed.

"No."

"So what did you tell her?"

"I just told her the truth," Lily promised.

"What? That you're a cheating whore that broke my father's heart?" Chuck took one step closer and Lily took two back. "What I don't get is how you get off on playing the jilted ex-wife. It's a little hypocritical don't you think?"

"I'm not some jilted ex-wife, neither did I break your father's heart" Lily countered. "_And you know that_."

Chuck firmed his jaw but didn't contradict. "None of this was your business."

"I like Lewis. She's a _good_ person."

"She's good for my father. Was that the problem? Could you not stand seeing it?"

"You've got this entirely wrong," Lily promised in exasperation. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"She's moving out of the townhouse," Chuck snapped. "You must have said _something._"

Lily winced at the truth and Chuck could see that her guilt was genuine. "I just explained the reasons why Bart and I got married...and divorced."

Chuck waited for her to elaborate. He didn't wait long, he wasn't the patient sort. "I think I can figure out the divorce part," Chuck prompted her with another snap.

Lily took a deep breath and studied the irate young man in front of her. She decided to tell him everything. "I think you'd better sit down," She offered as a start. Once he had she related the entire tale, disproved the assumption that Bart had ever cared for her, related his expectations on marrying her, the role she was supposed to play. That's not to say it'd been an entirely businesslike arrangement either. Bart could be quite the affectionate husband but he had remained very much in love with Chuck's mother. "It came to bother me," Lily promised. "And I didn't start with the sort of feelings Lewis has for your father."

"You're wrong," Chuck swore. "I know my father, he hasn't been like this in years, not since my mother was alive."

Lily nodded her head. "_I think that too_ but I'm not sure your father does. At least based on what Lewis told me. She's a _good person_ Chuck. She deserves to be the next Misty Bass, not the next Lily Van der Woodsen."

Chuck didn't have any words left to express so he just sat deeper into the leather couch and contemplated. His anger had been washed out somewhere in the middle of the history. There was a lot of information to manage, so many things to consider. One was that his father must truly love him to have done what he did. The other thoughts weren't quite so warm or pleasant.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck took a survey of Lewis' new apartment. It had a more homey feeling than a couple hours occupation could have suggested. It made him realize her moving had been in the works for a time, it hadn't been a snap decision. Chuck had to admit the rooms were airy, well decorated, larger than what he assumed the blonde would want. The child's playroom was fully stocked, views of Central Park breathtaking from any angle. He took a sip of tea as he stepped out onto the balcony, watched the crowds of people dart in and out of the rolling green. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yes. I'll be back at the townhouse tomorrow for a couple days." She didn't have much to move. Chuck hide his wince behind another sip. "I'm sorry," Lewis offered. "I should have given you more notice. But we're close by so you can come by and visit all you want."

"Until the fall," Chuck countered. Then she'd be back to Stanford and he'd be to Yale. She had that whole separate life she kept referring to. It was just sad. It would have been nice to have her tied to his father. He would have preferred to keep her as family.

"Then you can call and whine about your new school."

Chuck laughed sourly. "And have you explain iambic pentameter to me."

"Your father told me about the Valedictorian nomination."

Chuck blushed and took another sip. "It's nothing."

"It is. You should be proud of yourself."

"I actually don't really care. Dan is going to win anyway."

"You really think that?"

"I don't know. He could probably give a better speech. I wish Blair could win though."

"She probably will."

"She isn't. Nelly Yuki is way in front."

"Nelly?" Lewis' face lit up and Chuck figured he had one traitor in the midst.

"You remember her?"

"Of course! I know teachers aren't supposed to have favourite students but she was mine."

"I thought I was."

"Do you really want to go there?"

Chuck supposed he shouldn't.

"She is brilliant."

"_Stutters like a horse_," Chuck countered.

"She wants to be a paediatrician," Lewis pointed out. "And she's going to Stanford. I wrote her a five page recommendation."

Chuck arched a brow. Lewis was definitely a traitor but perhaps a useful one. "I guess you'll see her this fall then."

Lewis bit her lip. That was far from guaranteed.

"Are you going to keep this apartment when you go back to teach?" Chuck asked.

"I don't think so," Lewis admitted. The Wiltshires would offer but she's pretty sure her answer was going to be no.

"I guess there's not much for you in New York," Chuck fished.

"There's Aidan's grandparents."

"Let's just cut through the bull," Chuck ordered at last, turned away from the railing, the view of the park. "I know what happened between you and my dad. I know that your moving out has little to do with us and everything to do with you two. I even spoke to Lily."

Lewis put a hand to her lips as he said it, embarrassment starting in a crest of red at her neck that crawled to the tips of each cheek. It contrasted with the competing paleness of everywhere else. "Did he tell you?"

Chuck denied that. "I saw you," He explained, the building red of Lewis' cheeks met in the middle.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

"Why did you?"

Lewis shrugged her shoulders, did not offer any answer.

"Do you," Chuck stared at her closely. "Love my father?"

"I barely know your father."

Chuck caught the lack of denial. "You should spend some more time getting to know him then. It'd give him time to get adjusted to everything and..."

"Chuck," Lewis shook her head, the tiny movement taking most of his hope and crushing it flat. "Your father all but admitted that what he did was part of a game to make me stay."

Chuck felt the punch with the same strength that Lewis must have. It proved how invested he had become. How much he would have preferred her as Lily's replacement, and how willing he was to add another brother besides Eric. He felt the loss for his sake but the anger for hers. The second eventually outweighed the first, or at least turned the loss to a building temper. "I can't believe he did that."

"You shouldn't be angry with him," Lewis tried. "He didn't do anything wrong. It's not like he promised me anything."

Chuck's jaw went a bit harder, eyes glared rather than stared at the passing group of people. He got the answer to his earlier question. "I guess every child has to have that realization that their parents might just be more screwed up than them." Chuck tried to be casual about it, Lewis tried to smile but it made her wince. Then Chuck remembered that she never got the opportunity. "Sorry," He mumbled.

"Don't be," Lewis squeezed his arm one time through. "You should sympathize with your father," Lewis tried another tactic. "It's actually kind of endearing, that kind of love."

"I just," Chuck shook his head in disgust, tiny embers of anger still not extinguished. "I don't know how he can play the part of eternally grieving widower when he was the one who was cheating on my mother." His voice rose over the memory. "Did you know that? It's why she killed herself!"

"Chuck. I don't think..."

"No," Chuck pushed off the railing, put the cup of now tepid tea into the blonde's hand. "I need to go for a walk." He was halfway through the patio doors when he turned back. "I _am_ really sorry for you. You didn't deserve that."

Lewis shut her eyes as he left, her own guilt pushing a hand to her forehead. She'd worked so hard for the reconciliation only to screw it up again by getting too involved. If she had any smarts left, she'd stay out of things from that moment forward. The problem was that she just couldn't; she wanted to fix the mess she'd made. So she picked up her phone and dialed Bart's number. "That thing you wanted my help with? I'll give you a few days to do it," She offered meekly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was waiting for Chuck when he got home, sitting in the main room, one pinstriped wool leg crossed over the other. Chuck brought the foul superlatives, anger having barely eroded despite a thirty minute stroll through Central Park. He opened his mouth to express one and all but then he noticed what was in his father's hand. It was a Blackberry but it wasn't his father's. The purple proved it was Chuck's instead. That's when he remembered it was Monday at ten o'clock and his conference was Monday at six.

"Jack called me," Bart explained. "Faxed me some paperwork," He added as he tossed the phone to the coffee table. It landed with a bang. "I finished the meeting for you."

"I..."

"Save it Charles. I read the briefs. I have a pretty good idea why you did what you did.

"I planned on being there."

"You need to trust your uncle. Jack McFayden is one of the most brilliant men I have ever worked with. Definitely more creative than me. If anyone is going to solve this problem," Bart handed the papers back to his son. "Then he will."

"I didn't mean to..."

"Just call your uncle Charles. He deserves it," Bart promised as he kicked his feet down. Chuck could see the sympathy and knew it wasn't for him. It wasn't surprising that Bart would jump to Jack's defence. It wasn't just because Jack had been a co-founder of Bass, not because their marriages had made them family, it's because for nearly twenty years Jack had been his father's best friend.

Chuck picked the phone up as his father left the room. He punched the longer area code, waited through the rings with placation on his mind. He could tell his uncle was angry from the greeting, lower and sharper than he had ever heard before. He could vaguely remember Jack ripping into an architect once over the phone. It'd been humbling. When Chuck realized his apologies hadn't pulled Jack's tone either lighter or pleasanter Chuck figured he was due for the live show.

"What were you thinking?"

"I got preoccupied."

"Preoccupied?" Jack threw back in disgust, voice rising even as it slowed. "I hope to God that preoccupied means you're lying in an alley somewhere, or you're hooked up to an IV machine because those are the only acceptable reasons for playing no show."

"No, it was a personal issue."

"Let me guess. Some teenage drama!"

"I'll make it up to you."

"These sorts of things can't be made up!"

"I know I wasn't reliable."

"That's the problem. I worked very hard to build up your credibility, to prove that you were more than just another eighteen year old kid. And what do you do?" Jack yelled through the line. "You prove that's exactly what you are!"

"I know I was entirely in the wrong."

"Do you even realize how foolish you made me look? It's not just your credibility that is on the line. I have had some of those contacts for nearly twenty years! When you don't show it doesn't just make you look bad, it makes everyone who works with you look like a jackass too."

"I'm sorry that I let you down," Chuck offered.

He could hear his uncle hiss back another inhalation of breath and waited for round three. It never came. Jack calmed himself instead, took several steady breaths until his volume turned back to a more natural pitch. "I will call you tomorrow," Jack finally offered in return. "When I am feeling more calm."

Chuck watched his screen turn to black, fingers swiping once. He could feel the tears pool in his eyes, shoulders shake as he felt the full weight of everything hit together. Why did his life always have to go to hell in spades? He pushed the screen again, watched it lighten, scrolled down his contacts until he hit Eric's name. He checked his watch and kept scrolling. It would be just past three o'clock in the morning there. He wasn't that cruel. He pulled down to the N's and hit Nathaniel instead.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The haze of marijuana circled them both, polluted the beige furnishings of Nate's main living room. The Captain and Anne were gone for the evening, leaving the entire townhouse as the boy's playground. Chuck lay across one side of the room, Nate covering the carpet in the opposite direction. They passed the joint between them, the thick coloring of red in both boys eyes proving it hadn't been the first. "Do you think my dad sucks in bed?" Chuck suggested. "After all, everything went to hell _after_ they slept together."

Nate just laughed, high of pot making it even funnier than it ought to be.

"Maybe I could give him some pointers. If he was good enough then maybe she wouldn't mind that he's, apparently, still hung up on my mom." Chuck shook his head to banish the thought. It was wrong too. It made him as selfish as his father evidently had been.

"Are you hearing yourself?" Nate asked through a chuckle.

"You're right." Chuck shook his head again to clear the hazy thoughts, took another hit to turn them foggier again. "Besides, he can't be that bad. He's still a Bass after all, it's not like he's a Humphrey or something."

That made Nate laugh even harder.

"I just wish she could have been my mom," Chuck admitted even though he was too old to need one, and loved his first too much to really want to replace her. "I even liked her bratty kid. He was kind of cute in a ruin all your pants with snotty fingers, or confuse your name with farm animals sort of way."

"You've still got Eric."

Chuck took a double hit. "He's not even my brother anymore. Not technically. And he's moving to England in the fall, to be with Damien."

"I'm sorry..."

"Oh please," Chuck stared at the row of dots on the ceiling. "I knew it was coming, both parts. I never expected Eric to stay my little pop-up brother forever."

Nate offered the blunt again.

"Now I'm just left with the family that doesn't like me," Chuck decided. "Except my father apparently loves me in some sort of would do crazy messed up things for way. My uncle may never speak to me again though. At least not without shouting."

"He'll have to," Nate countered. "You still have seven projects on the go."

"Maybe I just tried to do too much."

"Oh come on Chuck. You haven't done that much."

Chuck supposed Nate was right. His father always had many more projects on the go, more than you could count with your fingers and toes, and the fingers and toes of the person lying beside you. "I just..." Chuck stared straight up at the ceiling one more time and shut his eyes. "I really don't like my life at present." Nate didn't have a response to that. Chuck didn't want to quantify it by explaining further so they lay in an unbroken silence, rest of the joint burned down between passes. They stayed like that even after, until Chuck finally put to words the question than had been nagging him all along. "Do you think it's wrong to drink?" Chuck finally asked as he opened his eyes, watched the white ceiling again. The muted calm of pot was never quite enough. He needed the confirmation that it had to be enough, that it was wrong to fall back into a bottle again because the more his life went to pieces the more tempting it was to crawl back to the beginning again.

"I guess not," Nate said instead. "If it's just a bit after a bad day. I suppose there's worse stuff you could do."

Chuck winced into the ceiling, shook his head to clear his train of thoughts before they could grow with Nate's misspoken confirmation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – First, pause in awe of the fact that Nate is managing to out manipulate both Blair and Chuck! Did you use up those 100 pins? Is Voodoo Nate pierced through every conceivable inch. Then I suggest you buy 100 more for the next and last chapter of 'worst best friend ever' N (I got a chuckle out of the anonymous Nate flamer..love you!). By the way I know it's totally inconceivable that E could get into Eton, it's just one of the many things you have to suspend your disbelief over and remember that this is a fanfic after all. :)_

_Flipped – Nate, Nate, Nate....always worried about himself and what he wants. He'd sell out his own father, he's already sold out his best friend._

_Annablake – You guessed right. It was Eric that got his happily ever after first. He truly does deserve it the most though. I'm not surprised you were confused by L. I left her motives kind of hazy for a bit on purpose. I wanted people to kind of suspect her of not being truthful at first. That being said, she'd got to have serous commitment issues considering she never once had a stable home as a youth. She will spell out her entire history next post._

_Akimat – Nate is going to have to face up to what he's doing before the end. It ain't going to be pretty._

_The Disruptive One – Two reviews on how shitty a friend Nate is. I just love it! I have to say that you can't blame Nate for holding C back (I think he does). C is the one who chose to continue to have him a friend because he likes being enabled. Why do you think he really didn't call E?_

_Sky Samuelle – I'm glad you liked the Bass stuff in the last chapter. I hope you'll still like Bart after this chapter. He's a manipulator just like his son._

_Blair S – Someone had to remind Serena that she could be lying in the coffin though so that she understands that doing drugs isn't something casual or fun. She's about to embark on an industry where drug use is very high after all._

_Oc-journey – Yeah! Yes, Nate just needs to man up and tell his father that he wants to go to UCLA. All that stuff that he's going through over that is his own fault because he KNEW he didn't want to go to Dartmouth but he kept pretending he might. That's the thing. A lot of Nate's problems are his own fault but he doesn't see it. He likes to play the victim._

_Supernovelty – I agree with your assumption that what Nate wants is Blair to love him the way she loves/d Chuck. After all, he came to a 'realization' as Blair was trying so hard to save his best friend. C is going to lose it but more with N than with B._

_Angie38 – Is Bart stupid though? Or does he just not feel what we all assumed he did? Or maybe he does and he's confused like Lily suggested! Guess we'll find out next post._

_CBEBIW trory – Yeah, someone told me about GGKoolaid because I was on the poll for best series and another one too. I liked it except I enjoy the character of Vanessa (though I think they do use her as a plot device rather than giving her a consistent personality and back story)_

_Up Next - Sometimes alcohol has the potential to loosen lips but who's doing their confessing sober? Who needs a bottle or two? And who needs too much?  
_


	55. Chapter Twenty Two Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Two – Part One**

_May 19, 2009_

_I got the call from my mother yesterday. It was the one I'd been dreading. The one that told me the Van der Basses had formally ceased to be. My mother's divorces never hurt before, in fact, there was one in the middle that brought more joy than sadness. But the end of that, it twisted me up for a whole hour. Until I realized something. In law or just in heart I would always have a brother. Whether I live a continent away, or a street away nothing will ever break the bond we'd formed. _

_So let Lily and Bart break apart what I'd grown to love. I'll pick up the pieces I treasure most._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

The moment Chuck caught sight of his father in the dining room, lingering over his cup of coffee and playing absently with his eggs, Chuck knew he'd been right all along. His hope had dropped a bit over Lily's suggestion, nearly been crushed with Lewis' confirmation but it took only one idly scrapped fork to prove that of them all, despite the prolonged hiatus into what the fuckery, Chuck once again knew his father best. He felt the swagger come back as his father failed to acknowledge him with more than a nod of his head. Bart was reading the financial pages, well, kind of more like staring at them. "Missing your usual breakfast companion?" Chuck couldn't have held back the taunt even if he'd wanted to.

"Hmm," Bart said noncommittally, flipped a page for good measure.

"Don't be an idiot," Chuck advised as took the napkin from the table, unfolded it with a single flip and laid it across his uniform pants. "A woman like that only comes along _twice_ in a lifetime."

"It's not like that at all," Bart promised.

"_How early_ do you think I get up for breakfast?" Chuck said in a perfectly casual tone, as if he were relating a comment on the weather rather than pointing out the obvious.

Bart chanced a glace up and then at his watch, panic taking over the moment he realized it was nearing 8:00 am already. Where had the last two hours gone? He had a meeting in less than fifteen minutes. He jumped so fast from his seat that the thing nearly fell over. It wobbled as he grabbed his briefcase and rushed for the door. Chuck couldn't help the self-satisfied smile from taking over as he took his cup of coffee. He lingered in his own way, lifted each sip with a perfectly curled pinkie.

The smug calm was nearly enough for him to refuse the joint Nate offered him as they met on the way to school. He'd wonder later why he didn't say no. He could have blamed it all on Nate but Chuck didn't have any illusions with the blonde. He knew Nate had always been one of his biggest enablers. Chuck collected them in spades, matched them to his self-proclaimed savers in competing pairs, meandered back and forth between them based on mood, on circumstance or dominate feeling. Truth was there were lots of excuses but only one real reason. Chuck watched the glowing red and knew one evil was less than the other. If he had to pick a side to ride through the storm then the artificial glow of pot was better than the darker edge of alcohol.

But the promise of a plot, of a perfectly dealt manipulation, that was better than both. That's why when he spotted a flash of mustard yellow that could only be the return of Nelly's trademark jacket, Chuck handed the still lit joint back to Nate and hurried away. The cold might have returned from the weekend prior but that did it have to mean the return of thick wool and black buttons? Chuck had only needed a sweater jacket over his regular uniform but, then again, Nelly had always been a bit different, from her obviously too wide glasses to the huge collection of the exact same pair of white tights. "Nelly Yuki," Chuck smiled his most charming grin as he reached the round-faced Asian, put an arm casually over her shoulder and sat beside her as if he had every right to be there.

"What are you doing?" She actually glared. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"We need to have a conversation." Chuck started. "About Valedictorian."

"I'm not giving it up if you're about to suggest that I do."

"You should. I saw your speech at the Christmas concert," He shook his head in disgust. "I...I...I...I thought it could use some work."

"I deserve to be Valedictorian," Nelly wasn't moved. "So I suggest," She pushed him arm off. "You scurry back to whatever hole you came out of."

"Do you want to be Valedictorian above _all else?"_

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I heard you're going to Stanford," Chuck smiled smugly.

"I am."

"That Ms. Smith wrote your letter of recommendation."

"So?"

"Did you know that Lewis is dating my father?"

"So," Nelly threw back again.

"She's fully in the Bass sphere of influence," Chuck lied with a manoeuvring smirk, rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Are you trying to threaten me?"

"What do you think would happen to your acceptance if she withdrew that letter?"

"She wouldn't do that."

"I think she would, with the right motivation."

"Like?"

Chuck put a hand to his lips, played at fishing for an answer he'd planned all along. "Did we ever find out who sent all that stuff about she and I to Gossip Girl last year? The photos that got her arrested."

"It wasn't me."

"Are you _sure,"_ Chuck said with an arching brow, the smug assurance that he could make anything truth. "Or better yet. What if you _were_ Gossip Girl? How do you think a 4.0 would hold up against those sorts of extracurricular activities?"

"How can you live with yourself?" Nelly snapped as she grabbed her bag, pushed her wide glasses back and stood up from the cement table.

"Just think about it," Chuck called out as she scurried off.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric could feel the sun warm his back, gentle breeze trickling in through the open bedroom window. He put a hand out to find the other side of the bed empty. It motivated him to open his eyes, run a hand through his hair and turn over. Damien hadn't gone far; he'd taken residence at the end of the bed. His long legs were sprawled across the white sheets, body anchored in an overstuffed sitting chair. "Good morning," Damien mumbled into the morning air, eyes darting between the bed and the sketch pad he's balanced on a leg.

"What are you doing?" Eric asked in response.

"Drawing."

Eric suddenly felt more alert. "Subject?"

"You."

That made Eric reach out and grab the book. "I thought we talked about that."

"I thought your opinions might have changed," Damien returned with a smirk. Eric judged the thick sheet of parchment. It was an excellent rendering, even at only one third completed. "Have they?" Damien put his hand out in anticipation. Eric didn't hand the pad back. He pulled the sheet out instead, dragged it between the spiral rings. "What are..." Damien didn't get to finish the question before Eric had ripped the page in two. "Your opinion hadn't changed?"

"Perhaps it has," Eric admitted with another rip. "But I'd prefer we start with clothed drawings."

"Really?" Damien tried again. "Because you truly are hot you know."

The compliment didn't keep Eric from ripping the paper a third time.

"Though if you're going to let me render you," Damien jumped up in excitement. "Then I'm going to need real canvas, and paint, lots of it."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart's secretary was reading his to-do list aloud. It's how he started every morning, except it was two hours later than the norm. By then it had turned from a to-do list to a should-have-done-already reminder. Bart had run into his first meeting fifteen minutes late, it started the morning off completely wrong, his files as disorganized as his thoughts. "The board wants the short list of Vice President candidates by Friday."

That wasn't even possible. "Tell them it's going to take a bit longer," Bart tried.

"Because?" The secretary flipped her notebook. Bart figured there had to be a reason, he'd pushed the deadline twice already.

"I'm courting someone from outside the company," Bart grasped. "It's going to take some time." He was sure there was an irony in the CEO lying about his homework. He did it anyway. Mostly he just wanted the pencil-skirted brunette out of his office, another cup of coffee in his hand and...well...something. When she left he poured two, managed his way through the first pile of folders. Those were the ones he should have done yesterday. The other pile, those were the ones he should have reviewed last week. Bart felt like a twenty-five year old again but it was for all the wrong reasons. That was the last time he'd let his personal life get the better of him, at least to this degree. Then he'd tried to juggle building a company with trying to figure out what was wrong with Misty. Then he'd had Jack to pull him forward when he fell behind. He needed another Jack. Bart eyed the stack of personnel files with a grimace. There wasn't another Jack in those, he'd read through them three times. He'd accepted it eight years ago. He'd realized that he'd never find another coworker or friend to replace his co-founder.

Just like he'd never find another wife like Misty. Bart had always lived his life in absolutes, always and never tying together into forever. The problem was life didn't seem so straightforward anymore. It wasn't that the memory of Misty had begun to fade. It wasn't that he didn't feel the same for her as he had last week, last year, or twenty years before. He still loved her. The issue was that it wasn't just about her anymore and that turned all those absolutes on their side. Bart always thought you fell in love once and maybe he wasn't in love quite yet, but those little fluttering butterflies, well they kept swearing that he was halfway there already. They flew and he didn't know whether to feel guilty for their existence or give into the weightlessness they offered. It almost felt like infidelity except it wasn't because Misty was dead and in life she had been the one to violate their vows. Maybe it was just remembering how much it had hurt him to know what she had done. Maybe it was the gold ring on his finger, the same one he'd worn since eighteen. Maybe it was the envelop in his desk, the slip of paper that proved she loved him always. He took it out, left the words and found the ring, the tiny slip of gold and ruby that he'd once been embarrassed of. She never had been.

They could have worked it out. That's the single fact that Bart is sure of. He just wished that Misty could have had the patience, the fortitude to wait out the storm. He would never have left her, not like he had threatened and if he couldn't leave her at the height of his anger then how was he supposed to now? Bart laid his first wife's ring on the table, removed his own to lay atop it. They made an awkward pair, her tiny circle of gold nearly disappearing beneath his wider one. It was every part of them, he couldn't let any of it go.

So where did that leave him? It'd be easy to send the blonde away, box up his feelings rather than complicate them. He might have done it if it threatened his first attachment. But the strange thing was that it didn't. They didn't compete, they barely crossed in his mind. They were two entirely different woman, two entirely different feelings that blended but never blurred. It wasn't entirely clear and Bart wasn't entirely sure but he also wasn't preparing his box. He picked the band of gold up, replaced it to the grove of his second finger. Perhaps it didn't have to be perfectly clear. Perhaps they could figure things out together. After all, Lewis Smith was nothing if not patient.

Bart put Misty's ring back into the thick envelop, laid it flat against the desk and traced the lines of his name and the loops of his sons. Perhaps it was fitting. What belonged to the mother would pass to the son, another brunette would wear what his wife had loved best. Maybe that's what had to happen, life had to continue to grow, to cycle forward. "I'm sorry Misty," he whispered. "But I'm not dead."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair couldn't help but stare at him, no matter how inappropriate or against all her plans it was. He was just so close, maybe thirty steps away at the most, with his thick brown hair hidden behind the hood of his sweater, feet jumping against the cement as he flipped through a novel. It must have been assigned reading. There was no cigarette to judge him by but she still knew something was wrong. That voice inside her head wouldn't shut up. She could feel her heels inch closer to the side of her picnic table. She wrenched them back, forced her eyes back to the table and her sole companion. There was an edge to Dan's eyes that she didn't like; as if he'd followed her eyes and knew exactly who she was staring at and what she was thinking. "What?" she snapped on instinct.

"If you're that worried then go talk to him."

"I can't." Blair said simply.

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

Dan shook his head and Blair figured he didn't understand complicated. "I thought you were Chuck's oldest friend."

"Nate is."

"He's not much of a friend is he."

Blair just kind of stared at that. Dan arched one of his brows and she hated him a bit more for it. How had they ever emerged with a friendship in tact? The boy was infuriating. "Maybe you could talk to him?" Blair tried a smile instead.

"Because the last time I tried I left with my nose intact?"

There shouldn't have been satisfaction at the memory because after all, Chuck wasn't her boyfriend and Dan once had been. The smile turned smug anyway. It didn't last long though. "I am worried about him," Blair admitted in a whisper, after a look around. "He doesn't seem like himself."

Dan had to laugh because when was a moody and perpetually angry Chuck anything but par for the course. Then again, he had to concede a few points of improvement. "It could be because he's smoking up with Nate every morning."

"No he's not." Blair threw immediately back. Dan arched that damn brow again, it made her purse her lips tight. "His life is going well," Blair promised. "He wouldn't be smoking up and even if he wanted to, Nate wouldn't offer it to him." Dan's brow crawled so high it nearly met his hairline. "You're wrong."

"I sit beside Chuck in first period calculus."

Blair still waited until the first recess to approach Chuck. She played the tug of war first, what would she say, wondered what he would do. Fear always made evasion the simpler choice. She tried to convince herself that he truly was fine and when that didn't succeed she told herself she'd convince Nate to talk to him but, then again, how well did that go last time? She piled the excuses high until she realized something that had slipped from her notice. It wasn't in the cigarettes, it was in the clothing. The black on grey suit he'd worn to the Regatta dinner, the grey shirt he was wearing the next day, the black and brown the following. And today? Chuck always cut his uniform through by adding some wildly contrasting collar beneath, or baring that found some piece of colour somewhere to lighten the navy. Today he hadn't only kept his clothing standard, but he'd drowned out the yellow polo, the only natural issue of colour. He'd layered it with a grey and black checkered sweater, zipped that to the chin and let his head disappear somewhere within it's voluminous hood.

Sometimes the truth was in the details and recognizing them made you realize everything else. The details made Blair cross the courtyard, had her stand right beside her target and wait for him to turn. "Shopping in Eric's closet again?" Blair opened with a deliberate look downward.

Chuck didn't look down at his clothes, couldn't to be truthful. He was glued as he always seemed to end up, in a pair of brown eyes.

"Changing up the colour palate?" She tried further.

That made Chuck glance briefly down, not seeing what was so evidently clear to her now that she'd noticed it. "What?" He mumbled and Blair would have spoke further but they were interrupted. Chuck's phone rang. For a moment he could have ignored it but that was before he caught his uncle on the call display. He put a hand to dismiss himself from Blair instead, walked a few steps away and intoned his greeting. He waited for the yelling in return but it never came. All that came was a request that he fly to Seattle immediately.

Blair watched him, listened to his conversation with growing fears. It wasn't the business, it wasn't even the clothing anymore, it was the fact that Blair had stood close enough to prove Dan's statement. "Blair," the voice called her attention. It was Nate. It made her face screw up in fury. "Blair," He tried again and her thoughts went black. "Blair," Nate held her arm the third time. She could feel the possessiveness in his fingertips and for the first time it was as far from endearing as it ought to have been. He pulled her around but her look was so murderous that he let her go, let her flee right into Constance.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

In the broad picture London was a cosmopolitan city not all that different from New York. Beyond the accent there were more similarities than differences: the thrones of people from every ethnicity, the open markets, shops and crowded streets. Damien and Eric marched between them all, trip for paint turning to an afternoon's entertainment. They needed a change of clothing, wanted new shoes, split cups of coffee and tea, finished with a wandering through the Brit's favorite gallery. The sun was crossing Big Ben when they eventually ended in the art supply store. The shop keeper greeted Damien by name. It didn't make Eric's boyfriend smile as wide as when Eric tried to match the blue of his new shirt to paint, no less than seventy-five shades to chose from.

"Are you sure we should leave your sister at the mercy of my family?" Damien asked as Eric's phone chimed for the twentieth time that day.

"Did I ever tell you about the time she left me standing in a open market in Mexico City?" Eric said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. "For four hours?"

"It's a two bedroom flat," Damien reminded.

"So maybe we call her tomorrow," Eric said as he finally found the exact shade.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck dangled one duffel bag over his shoulder, carried it down the flight of stairs to the front door. It was only half full but Jack had promised things wouldn't take more than two days. He was hoping it would take less than that because it was Tuesday night already and he had one other important plot to hatch before Friday. It involved his father and a certain blonde who had, as promised, reappeared that afternoon. Chuck dropped the bag beside the front door, tossed his sunglasses and wallet on top. He turned to leave when the doorbell rang, debated leaving anyway and letting a servant see to it. Once he opened the door he wish he had. The moment he turned the knob, Chuck knew he'd have an irrational distaste for all things French from then on. Particularly too good looking, forty year old men, named Henri.

"Josephine please," the man gave out in his thick accent.

Chuck crossed his arms, put up the guard. "You call her Josephine?"

"Is better than Jane? No?"

"Her name is Lewis."

"Josephine is her middle name."

"But Lewis is her _first_ name."

"Yes, but Lewis is such a masculine name. It does not suit her."

"Really?"

"Josephine," Henri pushed past the boy to kiss the blonde's cheek twice. Chuck watched each intimacy with a building level of fury. It kept his eyes a glare, Lewis' face going blank the moment she saw him. "Shall we go?" The accent played again, pulled her with him to the door. She moved past Chuck, the apology she offered genuine.

Genuine or not, the apology didn't ease the ache in his chest. An ache that only magnified when Bart arrived half an hour later, gift in hand. It seemed his father didn't need the help after all. "I think she went out for dinner."

"For her birthday?" Bart asked.

That made Chuck look up. He hadn't even realized. "Yes," Chuck put his eyes down again, kept colouring a picture of Elmo with Aidan adding scribbles to one corner. The toddler was already sleepy, nanny lingering to one side. She moved to pick up Aidan after the third rub of his eyes.

"She's having a birthday dinner at Le Maison. Maybe you could join her," Helga suggested as she brushed Aidan's curls from his eyes.

Chuck arched one eyebrow at the nanny but kept his mouth firmly shut. He didn't question the worker until his father had left. "Do you know who she's having dinner with?" He questioned first.

"A little jealousy will be good," Helga promised. "You'll see."

Chuck arched one brow and pushed Elmo away. It was almost brilliant enough to be one of his ideas.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate knew the reception he'd receive before he entered the lift. Blair had disappeared before the final bell, had ignored every single one of his calls. His afternoon had been one steady progression of silence that Nate knew could only be broken by a call at the Waldorf penthouse. So he braved the mirrored lift, didn't bother with flowers this time. He didn't want them thrown at his head.

"I have nothing to say to you," Blair snapped the moment the elevator doors opened. "So I suggest you take yourself home."

"You're not even going to tell me why?" Nate asked and Blair rolled her eyes.

"I think you know."

"I really don't."

"I know that you've been smoking up with Chuck."

Nate crossed his arms. He was getting sick of hearing that name on his girlfriend's lips. "You never had a problem with me doing it before."

"How can you do drugs with your best friend when he's barely a month out of rehab." Blair tried to keep her voice from rising. She tried to stay calm but she couldn't. Her heart would never stay still when it involved Chuck Bass.

"Oh," Nate tightened his arms. "I see. You're not worried about _me_ doing it."

"Chuck needs to stay clean and sober." Blair could feel her cheeks flush with the force of her anger.

"And I don't?"

"This isn't about you! This is about your best friend who has a chemical dependency problem."

"It isn't pot he has a problem with."

"That doesn't mean you offer him drugs!"

"Why are you making such a big deal about this?" Nate threw back. "Chuck told me himself that he even smoked up at Clayton House."

"That's not possible." Blair threw back twice as hard.

"What's the matter Blair?" Nate snapped. "Afraid that Chuck isn't as good and perfect and you would like to think he's become?"

"_What the hell is wrong with you_?"

"What's wrong with me? How about the fact that you are so worried about _Chuck_ smoking up a bit. When have you _ever_ cared about _me_ doing it?"

That deflated Blair's anger the slightest, replaced it with some ill-timed guilt. "I did care about you doing it," Blair's words came weaker than the screaming diatribes that had preceded it.

"I don't think a few rolled eyes compares to the silent treatment followed by a screaming fit!"

Blair had to stay quiet. Nate was right. It couldn't. He was also right that there was some hypocrisy in this entire situation.

"Some girlfriend you are!" Nate spat with blazing eyes. It was half in truth and half in necessity. He waited for her to contradict the claim of girlfriend, to yell back but she stayed silent. That's why the satisfied smile passed briefly over the rage after he had turned, as he punched the down button. He needed something to balance the scales that had fallen too far to Blair's side.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The restaurant was a charming bistro set three blocks from the waterfront. It was the type of establishment that played violin music and had appetizers with names longer than the offerings. It was exactly the kind of restaurant that a thirty-four year old woman ought to celebrate her birthday in. Bart brushed past the head server, weaved between the patrons in search of one blonde head or two. Lewis had to be having dinner with Lily. Who else did she favour in New York? Bart was pretty sure he could manoeuvre Lily's disappearance. She had to owe him one or more like one million.

Except the only blonde head was a familiar bob. He caught it first in the sea of people, sitting three tables from the kitchen, glow of candlelight illuminating her dining companion. Bart's lips turned to a scowl when he recognized the face, all attractive angles of it. Henri was staring full into his date's face, eyes intent and unflinching. He was fully mesmerized and it made Bart remember what he'd forgotten. It wasn't just him. Lewis was perfectly capable of captivating everyone in a fifty mile radius. It gave him a choice: fight and make a scene or walk away. He wanted so much to do the first but then he remembered how old he was. It made him chose the second but only as a tactical retreat.

It's too bad Bart didn't have the fortitude to take the scene from the other side. If he had, then he'd see the only thing Lewis was staring longingly at was the bottom of her glass of wine, which had become inexplicably empty for the third time that evening. That couldn't have been right. She rarely finished one glass of wine in a day, often avoided it outright. But there it was, as empty as the former two. That's when she knew something had to be wrong with her. She had in front of her one perfectly kind, gentle, intelligent, handsome man and she found him about as exciting as the nutritional information on the side of her breakfast cereal. There was definitely something wrong with her. Just consider the men she'd actually slept with, all pitiful four of them. She winced. What self-respecting, never-been-married thirty-four year old had had sex with _four _men? She still had a finger left on the right hand! And who were those men: one tattooed young offender, one charming girlfriend beater, Mr. filtration processes and the emotionally neutered.

She could blame William on being an immature thirteen year old, on being pursued by the unspoken head of the group home they'd dropped her into. She had been so naive, so willing to be pushed into things she ought to have thought the better of. The saddest part is she hadn't thought the better of it until his t-shirt had run red with someone else's blood. The memory turned her stomach, made the ring of red at the base of her crystal glass sinister. She pushed it away.

She supposed she'd traded enough of her own blood to make a penance of sorts. Ah Andrew. What sane woman would chose that kind of man to end her fifteen year exile from entanglements? It wasn't that she preferred him to the rest of men who were dismissed by the end of date number two (everyone knows you discuss your background on date number three and what was Lewis supposed to talk about? The circular tour of Quebec that was her childhood, or perhaps she could give pointers on how to stay upbeat while incarcerated ). Lewis knew that life stayed easier if you stopped at date two but Andrew was the most relentless admirer she had ever experienced and when it came right down to it she had always been too damn malleable.

Henri? Lewis made a grab for the empty glass again, ran a finger along the rim aimlessly. She chanced a look up, listened just long enough to realize he was still rambling about methods of wine preservation. It, along with his two grown children, were the only things he ever talked about. Lewis ran her finger hard enough to make the mild ringing sound. Henri was boring but safe. She could fashion her imaginary family fantasies with him.

And Bart? He was the proof that despite all her trials she had learned absolutely nothing. She was still as naive as she had been with William. Still bent as easily as Andrew had proved. And, like with Henri, she was still searching for some illusive family to fit into.

Oh God! She might just need professional help.

Or she had an unhealthy fascination with power. It was reasonable. She'd spent most of her life powerless, pushed around by bureaucracy and competing claims of custody. Or maybe it's just that she'd spent most of her life wishing for the death of her last living relation. That sort of evilness had to ruin a person for life. It wasn't her fault. If her grandmother had just given up custody she could have been adopted by any of the seven families she spent the years shuffled between her but, instead, by the time her grandmother actually did die, she was a screwed up thirteen year old that no one wanted anymore. There was so much there: lack of paternal or maternal influences, incomplete attachment, patterns of instability. Too many precursors that proved she was screwed for life. Or maybe her biggest problem was that she did her degree in Psychology. It made it too easy to self-analyze.

"Would you like another glass of wine?" Henri asked.

"How about a bottle?" Lewis mumbled instead, stared at the red ring one last time as the waitress was called over. "White," She said as she passed it to the petite brunette.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair hesitated only momentarily outside the Brooklyn loft. She hadn't been there in months. They might have played the part of friends, might actually be friends still but it was the sort of friendship that didn't involve popcorn and gossip on a Tuesday night. It was more the type of friendship that added a smile a the end of each snarky comment. Blair was relieved when Dan was the one to open the door. She didn't need to be passed along the Brooklyn three, coming to Dan was enough of a humiliation for one evening. "You were right," She offered as she brushed past, entering the loft without permission. When did she ever ask?

"I told you," Dan offered and Blair wondered who actually put their 'I told you so' to words.

"I just don't understand why," Blair insisted as she spun.

"Shouldn't you be asking Serena?"

"It's 3:00 am there," Blair answered and Dan shut the door in defeat. He walked with Blair to the living room, brushed some music sheets off the main couch to make room for the brunette. She dropped herself unceremoniously, no comment on the newer coffee stains. That's when Dan knew things were serious. "Why would Nate do that?"

Perhaps she should have asked someone else. Dan wasn't the most sympathetic when it came to that blonde. "Because he can."

"And Chuck. It makes no sense. His life is going so well. He's been nominated for Valedictorian, he's going to Yale, he's worked things out with his dad. It makes no sense that he would start getting high now."

Dan stared her right in the eye because he knew she wasn't that naive. "Do you _honestly_ not know?" Dan asked. When she played at it he pushed the questions further. "What's changed in the last week?"

"Nothing," Blair lied.

That's when Dan knew that Blair needed the reassurances too. "You started dating Nate," He connected the dots for her.

"Chuck doesn't want me," Blair defended herself. "He's dating Vanessa. He chose her."

"And I bet if you asked him again, he'd have chosen you."

"I'm seeing Nate."

"Is that what you want?"

Blair couldn't answer. That was answer enough.

"Listen Blair, you can either stick with the comfortable things that you wish you could want or you could take the risk and fight for what you really _do _want."

"I have fought," Blair promised. "So many times."

Dan nodded his head. He had to concede that. "So what's once more?" When Blair hesitated he pushed further. "Just talk to him! Make him talk back. If anyone could force Chuck Bass to talk then it'd be Blair Waldorf."

"I can't," Blair promised again, emotions beginning to crack through in earnest. It could have been humiliating to cry in front of Dan Humphrey, but what was a little more embarrassment piled onto the evening?

"Blair...if you're scared."

"I am," She admitted. "But not for the reasons you think." That made Dan go quiet, advice dying on his lips. "I'm not afraid that he doesn't love me," Blair had to admit. "I know that he does. I'm just afraid that it won't make a difference. I'm not afraid he won't chose me." And that was it. She wasn't afraid of being rejected. That's wasn't why she kept hesitating, pushing to the edge of breaking down Chuck's defences, of getting the declaration she already knew, only to pull back at the last minute. She was as scared of getting it as not. She was scared it wouldn't change a thing. "I'm afraid that choosing me won't make a difference. I'm worried that it will just give me a side seat to the roller coaster that is his life. Like before." Blair turned her eyes away as she admitted the last. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to read between the lines, to figure out what he's truly saying or feeling. Or waiting for the next big disaster."

It took a long time before Dan could give an answer to that, a long time to collect his thoughts under such honesty. The truth was he agreed with Blair. If the situations were reversed, if he was put in such a position, Dan would run away too. So he just gave his exes hand a squeeze and said the only thing he could. "Blair. I'm not going to tell you what to do. I don't think I could. Maybe you just need the right moment to happen. That moment when everything clears and you know what you need to do. Just wait for it. But in the mean time, don't be a coward," Dan shook his head. "It doesn't become you."

Blair let his words wash over her for a time and then she smiled, the first genuine grin of that entire day. "Thanks Dan," She offered. "You really can be smart."

"Not all the time," Dan admitted and Blair guessed what he was talking about. She knew her best friend hadn't talked to him since flying out.

"You should get her yellow roses," Blair suggested. "Serena loves yellow roses."

"Thanks for the advice."

It begged another question. Blair had begun to reflect on it as she entered the lift, how her friends and former boyfriends and everything in between seemed to crisscross and blend together. "Do you think it's weird," Blair had to ask. "How we're all a little too incestuous."

"I've decided to take the position that, until I'm the one making out with Chuck Bass, everything is still right in the world."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck watched his father storm through the house without comment. The decoratively wrapped gift was thrown to a kitchen counter, suit jacket tossed beside it. The way his father left both, turned one way and then the other, marched up the flight of stairs, it made Chuck feel nauseous. The nausea turned to outright sickness when he opened the gift, saw the bottle of lavender perfume tucked carefully inside.

Somehow the Plains of Abraham had transformed into the Battle of Hastings.

Bart had his phone open before he reached the landing. He called his personal assistant because he could. She was at his constant beck and call. "I was thinking," Bart started as he kicked off his designer shoes. "Bass ought to expand into wine." The fact that there was no rebuff of this most absurd suggestion, it was evidence of his power. "I know of a beautiful little plot in Lyon..."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Sorry for the late update. I might not be able to update for a couple weeks too. Sorry but end of the school year is super busy for me. The fluff is coming though. I had to divide this into two post though because it was getting long and I figured you didn't want to wait a month for an update._

_I have a favor to ask. It's kind of a personal request. Since I have over 100 people with this on alert I figure I have one youtube video maker in the bunch. Since this is my last story I was wondering if someone would consider making me a video loosely based on the series to a song I pick. I've always wanted to see a CB video set to this song but no one's made one. If anyone is interested then PM me._

_thehip_hopprincess – Thanks :) I hope you enjoy the rest of my little tale._

_Cb4e – I'm glad you didn't mind the CV here. I admit that I didn't mind the original CV on the show but I hated the WTF hook up. Talk about making V totally OOC._

_BrittyKay – NB is ending shortly :) Start the cheering now!_

_Bradshaw-esque – Damien and Eric have a couple tricks up their sleeves yet. Yeah, I hate Nate too :) I almost feel bad because one upon a time I said I'd never break apart their friendship._

_MidnightSky – Is there anything left of your Nate voodoo doll to desecrate? I kind of figured you'd like the Edam ending ;)_

_kanani81 – Thanks :) We're hitting the end of our angst shortly._

_Supernovelty – Hmm, why would reading Misty's suicide letter give Chuck a meltdown. It's not like he did anything to his dad because he thought his dad was the one who cheated...whoops...guess he did ;) Ah, that envelop that Bart was playing with, that's Misty's suicide letter. And he has it out because it's the thing that Lewis agreed to help him with._

_Haven – thank you very much. There will be no fourth book though but I will give you a quick overview in the epilogue of where their lives head after FTHEA._

_Oc_journey – BaLe was addressed here and will be next post too. It won't be a quick, easy wrapping with a bow but it won't be too complicated. Chuck's getting the suicide letter next post. Bart thinks Chuck skipped the meeting because the project was tanking and he got scared._

_Annablake – Chuck might get his family yet. We'll have to see whether Bart messes things up. I love Eric – Damien too._

_Every1luvsme24 – You have to remember that Nate was the first one to be fine with Kathy getting Chuck drunk all the time and that was without him being jealous over Blair. He's just a sucky friend!_

_Blair S. - Nate knows what he's doing and he's going to have to face up to it sooner or later._

_Sky Samuelle – I think you'll enjoy Eric's thoughts when he realizes how much everyone has screwed up things in his absence :)_

_flipped – Blair needs to do her confessing sober and so does Chuck. Lewis though, hmmm....._

_CBEBIW trory12 – Don't worry about NB, they're dying a slow death and have been since they rekindled themselves. Someone needs to yell at N to just give it up already._

_Up Next – An important letter. A trip to 1812. Dan proves that everything is not right with the world._


	56. Chapter Twenty Two Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Two – Part Two**

When Lewis tripped over the first step, her date put out an obligatory hand and she leaned against it. By the time she reached the top, when she saw the look on Henri's face, she knew he was disgusted with her. It didn't bother her. Not even when his lips pursed and his head shook at random. In truth, she found his disappointment hilarious. After all, the only thing she'd gained on that date was a healthy inebriation and a reminder of why she'd happily pushed him back to France. Henri might just be the most boring man she'd ever shared space with. She must have been terribly alone in Lyon. And yet he was the one disappointed in her.

Realizing it made her giggle again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was preparing a speech to the board when the front of house servant entered. Five different sheets were laid across his desk, blue pen in hand and red pen at the side. Bart stared at the servant over his reading glasses, was prepared to send him away with a sharp comment but the man looked terrified. He was visibly shaking in his standard issue shoes.

"Ms Smith is home," The servant explained.

It didn't make Bart nervous, it made him check his watch. "Already."

"Yes sir," The man answered and Bart narrowed his eyes.

"Is everything alright?"

"Sh...She's..." The stutter scared Bart outright. He was out of his seat before the man could put the rest of his thoughts to words. He envisioned the worst as he pushed towards the front door. After all, Lewis didn't have the most selective history. He was two steps from the front when the servant forced it out. "She's drunk!"

Now it must be said that Bart didn't mind the unusual similarities between Lewis and Misty. The perfume bordered on disturbing but the rest was closer to endearing. Their shared affection for the colour green, or the preference for greenery that had slowly turned his third floor into a nature reserve. They shared a lot of insignificant details but, staring at Lewis, both knuckles squeezing the side table until they turned white, he couldn't help but hope this wasn't another. "Are you alright?"

The question made her open her eyes, turn her head extraordinary slowly. When she realized exactly who had caught her they closed again, wince creating a band of tiny lines at the corner of each eye. "Just waiting for the room to stop moving." It couldn't take much longer. She was sure.

There was something in her honesty that made him laugh but that laugh made her wince again. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," She threw back automatically. It gave her the precipice to stand again. It seemed fine, the room had slowed, her head had stopped spinning. That lasted a single step, that's all it took for her misjudge the distance and nearly fall. It wasn't her fault. It was the five inch heels she'd chosen to wear that night. When did she ever wear anything that high? She just needed to take them off. If she was standing flat on the floor than everything would be fine. That was the plan except when she looked down she remembered exactly what shoes she had chosen to wear. They were the sexy black ones with seven thin straps that ran from the base of her ankle upward. Extracting herself from them was an impossibility. Maybe she could sleep with her shoes on?

"Do you want help?" Bart tried again.

It made her stand up straight. She didn't need help from him. She could manage just fine on her own. It was a good mantra, a strong mantra that pushed her to lean against the wall. She anchored herself as best she could with one hand to plaster, bent down to remove the first shoe. She didn't even get one strap in when the entire room swung, couldn't even unloop one band of leather before she ended up sitting on the floor. So what if it wasn't graceful. It was far more practical. She pulled one leg to the side, skirt floating upward with each shift.

"Are you sure I can't help you take off your shoes?" He asked against as she cursed over strap number three, foot number one.

Lewis glared up at him. The glare lasted until the next fumble. Then the frustration built enough that she pushed both her legs down, crept them across the floor until the heels were in front of Bart. "Just the shoes," She snapped. There had to be ground rules.

"Just the shoes," Bart promised but it was with a soft voice, an arching brow that didn't portray sincerity. She doubted it further when his eyes inched up the line of one thigh, skirt rumpled to expose more to his pursuit.

"I'm not sleeping with you," She snapped louder.

"In general?" Bart had to clarify. "Or just tonight?"

A flicker of confusion passed and then held fast. She would have crossed her arms but she was pretty sure she needed at least one for balance. "Concentrate on the shoes!" Bart did, progressing from band to band with antagonizing slowness. "You need your glasses," She snapped again.

"Maybe," Bart answered, smile breaking through. That's when she started to realize something. He didn't need his reading glasses. The bastard was lingering on purpose, grazing his fingernails along her skin between every new band of leather. "Bad date?" Bart couldn't stop the smug smile from spreading.

"Ever wanted to know the difference between a Riesling and a Sauvignon Blanc? In _exacting_ detail?"

Perhaps he could reconsider that hostile takeover.

"We drank a bottle of each," Lewis admitted. "Couldn't tell the difference. Of course that could have been the Shiraz we had first."

"Would it have been better if I was there?" Bart asked as he pulled the first heel from her foot, rang his finger along her stockinged arch before progressing to the other.

The confusion spread. "Do you like wine?"

"Hate it."

"Me too."

"How much?" Bart asked as he finished the last loop, let the second shoe drop but kept his fingers to her slim ankles. "Enough that you wouldn't order it at a dinner with _me."_

"Are you...?"

"Go to dinner with me." It was almost a suggestion the way he said it, smooth and steady from first syllable to last.

Lewis stared down at his hands, wide and strong against her pale white stockings. She waited to answer until the idea had cleared through her befuddled mind. It never really did. "Can you ask me again," Lewis decided. "When I'm more likely to remember the conversation."

"You don't think you'll remember this?"

"I don't remember my thirteenth birthday," Lewis admitted. "That was the last time I drank this much."

"It must not have been memorable." Bart teased as he leaned closer, pushed forward on his hands until he was near enough to disconcert the blonde. "But are you sure you won't remember tonight?"

"I don't think so."

"Really?" Bart tried again, pressed forward until his lips were inches from hers. "Do you promise to try?"

"Some parts might be imprinted on my..." She never got the chance to finish before his lips swallowed the words whole, provided the memory he hoped would stick. Her mouth was different from the last time. Then she had tasted like mint and vanilla gloss but this time was wine and the oil of her thick lipstick. One coated his lips and the other his tongue, neither unpleasant but both potentially dangerous. He broke away before he could provide her another reason to distrust him.

"Let's see if you remember that," Bart whispered into her ear, felt her cheek turn against his but pulled back and stood before he was tempted to kiss her again. He left her there, put her in the charge of a servant as the first few butterflies multiplied.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck's hands shook when they signed the paperwork in triplicate. Wouldn't yours? He'd never signed a cheque with that many zeros attached to it. It was large enough that he'd had to call the bank to see that it would clear. He'd never had to do that in his life. It was singularly terrifying. "You do know, this is all the money I have, that is not already wrapped up in our other projects."

"Our best option at this point is to buy everyone else out," His uncle repeated. "It's like the other projects. The initial investors take the loss and we complete the project."

It was very similar to their typical plans except for one significant difference. This was _their project!_ So Chuck crunched the numbers but no matter how many times his brain swore it was the most viable option, his hands still shook. "Is this it?" Chuck asked as he handed the stapled paperwork back.

"We have to file the documents tomorrow morning."

"Can I go home after that?"

"Don't you want to stay a bit longer?" His uncle suggested instead. "Katie and I enjoy having you here."

"I have business in New York."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate played with his cell phone, he flipped it back and forth across his kitchen table. He'd had a late dinner with his mother and father, lingered long enough that even the servant had cleared around him. That didn't really matter to him but this phone call did. Nate had stared into the mirror after school that day and not even recognized himself. It wasn't the blue eyes or blonde hair, physically he was as exceptional as God had gifted him to be. It was everything else. He was slowly transforming into a boy he didn't even know. He was scheming, plotting and actually hoping for his best friend's personal failure. And for what? For Blair? He wasn't sure she was worth it. Then again, maybe it wasn't Blair. It might have been Chuck. This new Chuck that did everything right and said everything right and was everything right. It wasn't that Nate didn't want Chuck to be successful, he just didn't like being the failure in comparison.

Most of all though, Nate just wanted them all to sort things out. He didn't want to lose Blair but he didn't want to lose Chuck either. And maybe it wouldn't come right away but Nate needed to know that it would sort itself out sooner or later. Nate's dinner tonight would seal the first half. It would bring Blair back fully. She's agreed to visit his grandfather with him that night, even though it was out of the city and would likely entail them staying the night. Blair was in love with the Vanderbilt house, family and history. The Archibalds, Waldorfs and Van der Woodsens might have been legacies but the Vanderbilts were a dynasty. Tonight he'd let the full weight of that dynasty win Blair over in a way he hadn't been able. That was the first step.

The second was Chuck. It was a difficult balancing act but Nate was determined to find the right scale. They'd go to Yale together, they'd sort things out. Nate would stay with Blair and Chuck would stay his best friend. He just wasn't sure how he was supposed to manage both. That's why he almost didn't call but in the end their friendship won out. "Hey Chuck," The smile came back on instinct. "How are you?"

"Alright."

"How are things going with your uncle?"

"I think he's figured a way out of our mess."

"That's great!"

"Yeah..." Chuck trailed off and had Nate been more perceptive he would have understood.

"I have some good news. My uncle has got me a spot at Yale. I'm going to sign the papers at his house tomorrow."

"You're going to Yale for sure?" Chuck's voice came even slower through the distance.

"Yes I am." Nate repeated with his own deep breath. "And I'd be honoured if you'd be my roommate." He smiled into that distance, waited for the acceptance that never came.

"We'll see," Chuck promised and hung up on him instead.

Nate stared at his phone, all that optimism he'd cultivated falling down again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun was full in the sky before Bart dared to approach his object. The light was streaming through her bedroom window when he did, painting the rich greens with competing yellow, drawing light shadows beneath the blonde's cheeks and adding an even deeper sparkle to her eye. She needed both to erase the grey behind her eyes. Lewis was sitting on the trunk at the base of her bed, feet kicked out to either side, green and white print skirt hanging in the gap between. He had a bottle of water in hand and sympathetic smile on his face. "Missed your five o'clock run this morning?" Bart teased as he handed her the first.

Lewis took a look at her clock. That was hours ago now. "No eight am meeting?"

"I might have pushed them back to twelve." Bart said as he kept walking. He stood in front of the bed, in front of her and just kept leaning closer. Until his pants brushed against her skirt and his lips hovered inches from hers. "So do you remember last night?"

She neither denied it nor acknowledged it. She just stayed still and stared. He took that as a yes and moved closer. His lips were nearly to hers when she put the finger up, used it to push him back away again. "You shouldn't have cancelled your meeting. I'm still moving out." She admitted as she stood, brushed past the older man, left him to watch her go. She had to. She needed some distance to again balance the entire situation because the way it was now, with her living here, it had become a screwed up power structure with her always on the bottom.

Bart could have been crushed, or at least mildly rebuffed but he wasn't. It was the look she gave him as she was halfway to the door. She turned just her head back and smiled, a sort of sly but engaged smile that proved they weren't done yet. So he chose to focus on something else. He focused on her. Wondered how any self-respecting thirty-four year old woman could pair a set of high-top sneakers with a floral print skirt and still look so amazing doing it.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck calculated time zones on his phone as the blackness of night invaded his heart. He'd given up on the idea of sleeping nearly two hours before, chalked another endless night to his tally and tried to forget the last time he'd had this many in sequence.

He couldn't sleep after the realization that he was not as noble as he'd wished to be. The minute Nate had finalized his plans, Chuck knew he'd never planned to give up on Blair forever. It was why he couldn't deny that his admission to Yale had everything to do with Blair. It's why he'd booked his diagnosis follow-up at Clayton House. The moment Nate had stolen his plan, that's when Chuck was forced to acknowledge its existence. Nate was right. Chuck had been prepared to wait the year, to find out the absolute truth and to proceed with it. He'd known that Blair and Nate would flounder on their own. If Nate couldn't keep from cheating on his girlfriends within the same city, then what chance did he have to maintain fidelity across the continental USA?

But together at Yale? Blair would manage Nate and Chuck would, by bounds of friendship, be forced to experience every single moment of it. Chuck grabbed at his pillow and slammed it three times against the bed, sitting up as the blood coursed through his veins. He gathered the comforter around his plaid pyjama pants, kicked his bare feet out one corner. How was he supposed to endure that? Those tiny rips of his heart, the ones that had appeared with every blast, they joined with the larger cuts, formed by his words, her words and their actions until every single one met together in a final excruciating tear. Chuck swore he could feel the blood on his lips, in his mouth from the final demolition of his future.

Chuck put the phone down, grabbed his laptop from the side table and flipped it open. He had to rebuild, to find another way, another plan that he could affix his hope to because if they'd taught him anything at Clayton House, it was that drifting was dangerous. That having no aspiration, no goals or plans could only pull you downward. He started in New York, branched outward, tried to find something to equal what he had before.

After two hours the only thing he managed was to fall into tears. He didn't realize he was crying at first, not until the tears hit the keys of his laptop. He tried to wipe them away without acknowledgement but they scared him too much to be ignored. They made him shut the screen, pick up the phone and dial Eric's number. "Eric," Chuck attempted casual. His brother saw right through it.

"What's going on?"

"A few things."

"Like?"

"Nate's going to Yale," Chuck admitted.

"What?"

"His grandfather got him admission. He wants to go with Blair."

"Have you talked to Blair."

The hanging silence proved he hadn't. "I don't want to go to Yale with them."

"Talk to Blair," Eric said firmly but Chuck didn't even acknowledge it.

"I was thinking I could stay in New York. If I go to West Point then I'd be closer to my dad."

"Talk to Blair," Eric's voice rose over the name, tried to get Chuck to see what was plainly obvious to everyone else.

"They have a good math undergrad. I was thinking that I might like to do that more than business."

"God Dammit Chuck! Talk to Blair!"

"I have to go," Chuck lied. "I need to get some sleep for my meeting tomorrow. Have a good flight back..."

"Chuck!"

"I'll see you tonight," Chuck promised and hung up the phone. He tossed it to the side table and put the pillow beneath his head again, tried to find the calm.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric zipped his final suitcase with agitated force, pulled so hard he nearly pulled the handle right off. He paced the room twice and decided that he had had enough. He tried to keep from interfering but it wasn't working. It couldn't work when the people around him were determined to act like ignoramuses. So he punched the number seven and sat back on his bed. "Blair!" he cried out as she answered.

"Eric?"

Eric blazed right through the social niceties. It wasn't the price per minute, it was the necessity that drove him. "I need you to see that Chuck is alright."

"He's not in New York right now," Blair answered. "He's in Seattle."

"In Seattle?"

"He had business with his uncle. I could get Nate to call him for you."

"I could call him too," Eric pointed out as he regrouped. "I did call him."

"Is that why you're worried?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"It's not what he said. When is he supposed to get back?"

"This afternoon."

"Can you see him when he does?"

"I shouldn't."

"No Blair, _you should_."

"I'll get Nate to..."

"Nate's not the one who needs to talk to him."

"I..."

"Just do it Blair. For me if not for you."

There was a long pause, the crackle of the distance the only proof Blair was still there. "I'll see him when he gets back," Blair promised and Eric's spirits were lifted, at least until the disclaimer. "But just to see that he'd fine." She finished and hit the disconnect.

Eric looked at his phone in disbelief. "Stubborn sons of bitches," He yelled out in frustration, threw rather than tossed his cell on the unmade bed. When he looked up Damien was standing at the door, bemused smile on his face.

"Anything you need to tell me about?" Damien asked with a respectful pause. When his boyfriend didn't offer up the details, Damien suggested something else. "I have something that might cheer you up." He put a finger up and beckoned the younger boy forward. "The paint is not exactly dry," Damien started as they entered the main room. "But," He waved at the portrait.

Eric was struck speechless on viewing himself set to oil and canvas. It was a perfect rendering (if perhaps a bit flattering), lifelike and exacting in every single detail. "Wow."

"Do you like it."

Eric had to stare again. "Wow!"

"Did you see where I put it?"

Eric stared at the frame. It was tasteful, a thick border of black that fit well with the beige wall and blended perfectly with Eric's light blue shirt and blonde hair. "On the wall?"

"Look," Damien pointed at the opposite wall. The portrait his brother had painted still hung on the fireplace mantle, exactly opposite Eric's. "We're across from each other."

"O...kay."

"Don't you see," Damien offered with a wave of his hands from side to side. "It's like our portraited selves can stare at each other."

Eric took one slow look from left to right and burst out laughing. He laughed while Damien grew confused, couldn't even control himself long enough to explain. It was too damn hilarious.

"What?"

"It's just," Eric worked to control his breathing, to hold back the rest of his laughter. "It's another thing I'd never imagine _you_ to say."

This time it was Damien's turn to look left and right, brow furrowing once he realized what Eric did. "Oh my god. You're right." Damien was dangerously close to becoming some sentimental loser. "I'm losing my manhood faster than Lorena Bobbit could chop it off."

That made Eric laugh harder.

"Should I take it down?"

Eric shook his head no. "Don't. It's cute. I promise."

"Really?" Damien's uncertain smile turned smug again.

"Would I lie?"

"I'm not sure. Would you?" Damien bantered back and poor Serena, who had been, for several days already, subject to their flirting, and kissing, and certain other activities that would remain unnamed, finally gave out an enormous sigh.

"Can we just go to the airport already?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair knew Nate was trying too hard when he appeared on her doorstep at 7 am the next morning. He had planned to pick her up and walk her to school. They'd planned to breakfast together but it was 7 am! Nate usually didn't roll over until quarter to eight, picked up his school uniform from the floor, tossed it on and went. He wasn't showered with pressed pants and a perfectly tied tie. This wasn't him at all. He was working too diligently towards being that perfect boyfriend; the one that always held your hand, bought you your favourite things and made you feel adored in every moment. It's the boyfriend that Blair had always wanted Nate to be. Except by this time it wasn't what she wanted. It didn't make her feel adored, it just made her feel guilty.

"So I was thinking that you could practice your speech after breakfast," Nate said it casually over their eggs. Harold and Roman arched their eyes on either side of the blonde. She could see what they weren't saying. They were waiting for the return of the fourth brunette head.

"That'd be good," Blair said instead.

"And after school we'll have the car waiting," Nate explained further. "You can change for dinner and it'll drive us out of the city. Have you packed your bags?"

Blair nodded that she had.

"My grandfather has given us the guest house for the evening."

That made Blair's two fathers exchange another glance. Blair could feel their questions but they didn't voice them. They weren't like Eleanor had been. They preferred to step back rather than dictate. "Sounds great!" She lied and put her fork down. "I think I'm done now," Blair admitted. "I'll go change into my uniform."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena supposed it had to be cute that her brother had finally gotten his happily ever after, wrapped with a bow and an Eton admission but there was only so much coupled giddiness she could take. When Damien touched her brother's cheek again, it made her lean further down in the plastic airport waiting chair. Maybe it's just because it was her _brother. _When they kissed _again _she sighed loudly. "Can you stop making out already!" Serena snapped.

"What would you do during a three hour flight delay?" Damien put back.

"Don't mind her," Eric said. "She's having problems with Dan."

"_I am not_!"

"Would you like some advice?" Damien offered.

That was the last straw. To think that she needed advice from her _younger_ brother and his _boyfriend_. It was too much. "I'm taking a walk," Serena stood up and grabbed her purse. "To the _far _end of the terminal."

"Make it a quick one," Eric advised. "We might actually be boarding before tomorrow."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck arrived at the auditorium too late to hear Blair's speech but early enough to hear the thunderous applause that followed her back to her seat. It made a smile peek out from beneath his wide brimmed hat. He didn't pull it once he stood at the back, as the murmur of students announced his presence. He didn't move to the front even when Ms. Queller tried to wave him there. He let her keep waving for half of Dan's speech. It was a suitable distraction from Dan's thought provoking but entirely unoriginal address. He didn't keep his eyes to the Brooklynite. He wasn't out to disturb the boy.

He was out to disturb the Asian sitting beside his empty seat. Nelly caught his eye once and went immediately back to shuffling her papers. She changed one look up and then another, flipped her two sheets in rotation between. She missed her cue at the completion of Dan's speech and it made Chuck smile further. He leaned against the wood of one row, pulled his hat and laid it casually against his grey dress pants.

Nelly took the front podium, laid her sheets out across its length. Chuck cleared his throat once, loud enough that it echoed through the expansive space. It was enough. He could see Nelly grow unnerved before she'd even begun.

"Good afternoon s...s....staff," Nelly took a deep breath. "And fellow students."

Chuck shifted again, walked to the other side of isle and leaned. Nelly watched him rather than her speech. She watched him cross one leg in front of the other while the rest waited. Chuck arched his brow and stared at his watch meaningfully.

"I...I," Nelly shook her head and Chuck knew he had won. The folding of papers was just the confirmation. Nelly quit the competition with such grace that Chuck almost regretted his scheming. That was before he finally turned his eyes to Blair and saw her unhidden joy. That would make anything worthwhile.

"Mr. Bass," The voice carried over the loudspeaker as he replaced his hat. He tilted it to the side and stared across the auditorium to Ms. Queller. "Would you like your turn now?"

Chuck gave it a full moment of thought, removed his hat and then replaced it with a tilt to the other side. The entire student body waited in hushed anticipation, every student eventually hearing his casual reply. "I'm good."

The snickers turned to outright chuckles as Ms. Queller went red in the face. Chuck never saw it. His eyes were on a brunette and for a moment hers were on him too. Then Ms. Queller dismissed the body of students and the moment was stolen. Nate was the thief. His best friend rushed ahead of the rest of Blair's friends, offered his congratulations wrapped in a hug and a kiss. The stab that Chuck felt at the simplest gesture. It was the proof that there could be no Yale, no four years of friendship underlain by loathing and jealousy. He couldn't handle four minutes of them. So he turned and threw the doors to the auditorium open again. He marched down the hall, pushed through the few freshman who had darted out early. Another door and he was outside, cold air to wash his face new. He shut his eyes against the afternoon breeze, took three breaths and returned to his limo.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair pushed through the throng of students to reach the front of the school. Premature congratulations fell off her shoulders as she scanned the sea of faces, searching for dark hair and eyes, for a checkered scarf in a sea of yellow. She stepped to the right and to the left but there was nothing to be seen. Then she felt the hand on her arm, her heart lightened and she turned. It wasn't Chuck. It was Nate and Blair was astonished to realize just how much she didn't want it to be.

"Blair. What are you doing?"

"Looking for Chuck," She admitted even though it made him squeeze tighter.

"Why?" Nate said with darkened evenness.

"I promised Eric I'd talk to him. See how he was doing."

"He's doing fine," Nate promised.

"I'd rather see for myself."

"I just talked to him this morning," Nate explained. "He'd doing well. His uncle fixed their business problems."

"He did," Blair furrowed her brow at that. "I'd still rather..."

"He's fine Blair," Nate said a bit firmer. "And we have our own plans for tonight," He relaxed his expression, traded his uneasiness for a welcoming smile. "Special plans. I have some great news for us."

"I promised Eric. I would feel better if I talked to him."

"Blair!" Nate's expression dipped sour again. "Vanessa will take care of him. Let his girlfriend deal with it. _Our_ car is waiting."

Blair gave one last stare across the courtyard, the sea of faces that hide the one she wanted. Then she remembered. With Chuck it was always a chase, a game of tag where she was always it and he was always running away. So she took Nate's hand and let him lead her at a slower pace.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat in the largest chair in the room. It was a overstuffed white and grey striped seat that moulded perfectly to his form. They'd chosen a smaller sitting room upstairs. It's where Bart preferred to read in the evenings, huge plate glass windows offering views of the city but thick walls offering a barrier to sound. Bart preferred the sight without the sound.

Lewis sat in the chair beside him, pushed aside her grey pencil skirt and brushed at her white oxford shirt. She'd changed since that morning, returned to her more purposeful side. She had sides that were always reflected in her dress. She changed the colour of her hair, bounced between diametric opposites of light and dark, casual and formal. She had no fixed point.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" Lewis had to ask. She had a bad feeling about this entire situation. It gnawed at her chest and swore they needed to reconsider. "We could wait until you fly back."

"It's better this way," Bart promised. "I know my son. He's not going to want to see me after he reads this, at least not for a bit. But Eric should have got back an hour ago. They'll talk and when I fly back tomorrow I'm sure he'll be ready to talk with me."

Lewis just arched a brow and stared back at the carpet. She wondered whether it was Chuck who wouldn't be able to handle seeing his father, or Bart who couldn't handle dealing with an upset Chuck. She was starting to realize it was entirely the later. If Chuck had mastered the art of running away it was just because Bart had started him with a push. "Whatever you think is best," Lewis managed to force out.

"This will help him," Bart promised. "To fight for what is most important to him."

Lewis nodded her head slowly, wanted to agree with the older man. She couldn't. She still put her reservations aside because this entire situation was not about her. In fact, she thought her involvement inappropriate but she'd already promised her help. So when Bart laid his hand along the arm rest she squeezed it on instinct. Whether it was to reassure him or her she wasn't certain.

"Just make sure he doesn't leave the house," Bart reminded her, waited until she nodded her head. Lewis just needed to be the professional. She had a doctorate in psychology after all, she'd done years of research in exactly this topic. The nagging voice reminded her that had done no clinical work, that she wasn't trained to interact with actual people, only to push paper and crunch numbers. It didn't matter. She just needed to be professional about this.

Except it was hard to be professional when Bart turned her hand over, ran two fingers down one of hers in a far too intimate gesture. She pulled her hand immediately back, glared at the older man. "That was a wrong move!" She promised and looked away only to find herself starting at his son. _Fuck!_

"Father," Chuck tilted his head. "Lewis. You asked to see me."

"We have..." Bart began but Lewis interjected.

"Your father has something to discuss with you." Lewis promised and stood. "I'll be in the living room."

Chuck watched the blonde walk out. "If this is about you two then I already discussed it with..."

"It has nothing to do with _that_," Bart said. Chuck was silenced. He waited at the edge of the throw rug, tried to figure out exactly what he had done wrong. "You'd better sit for this," Bart suggested and Chuck acquiesced. "I lied to you," Bart admitted and Chuck crossed a leg to match his father. "Years ago I told you that your mother had left no letter." Bart lay one of his hands over the other, white envelope dangling from two fingers of his right hand. "I lied." Chuck could have asked why but he was too fixated on the flowing print. "I'd like for you to read it now."

"I don't understand why you would..."

"There's things in it that you need to read." Bart pressed the packet into his only son's hands. "I'm leaving," Bart admitted. "But I'll be back tomorrow. You can wait and we can read it together, or you can read it now. Lewis is staying the night and Eric is back."

The fact that his father was giving him options, clearly enunciating who could help him through. That made him uncomfortable. "I'll read it later," Chuck said and put the white slip into his pocket. It was enough for his father. Bart left. To be honest, his father had the panicked look of a colt from the moment he handed the letter over. Bart had been dying to bolt all along.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair fondled the neckline of her blue and silver print dress between rings. She kept one hand to the phone, the other running along the straight neck, dipping with the pleating at each side. Nate was downstairs waiting for her but she was upstairs dialling his best friend's number. That was their dynamic. Honestly was traded for necessity.

"Are you done?" Nate called through the door as Chuck's voicemail picked up. She should have been done. That was the fifth time his message had picked up. He was obviously avoiding her calls.

"Just two more minutes," Blair promised as she hit redial again. She sat back on the bed, didn't even notice how the mattress rumbled one side of her skirt.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The room had changed since Chuck was last there. Eric's photographs no longer graced the walls, Serena's wildly bright color palate had been muted, his bar had been replaced by a miniature fridge. All the uniqueness had been washed out of 1812 as it was returned to a rental unit. If it wasn't for the window, the exact scene of New York that was forever imprinted to his memory, Chuck would have assumed he'd miscounted. Well that and the key, the same band of silver cut with a single ring of gold. Chuck tossed it to the table, kicked off his shoes and sat on the couch. It wasn't even Nate's couch. That had survived two renovations to disappear with the rest.

It still felt like home in some absurd way. He had spent such a large piece of his teen years here that it had somehow become the place he needed to return to. He could have stayed at his father's house except his father wasn't there. And Lewis? She was wonderful in every conceivable way but she had already chosen against their family. He could have gone to Eric but the boy hadn't landed yet. He could have waited for him at the Van der Woodsen penthouse but that was the domain of Lily and she'd chosen against him first. So this was home and he was, as he had been for years, alone. And that had to be okay. Chuck pulled the battery from his phone, placed it delicately on the table to one side, useless phone to the other. He didn't want the disturbance. He kicked a foot beside each, unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat and stared at the envelope.

His mother had very feminine writing with perfectly spaced loops and slashes. It was repeated inside, two pages of immaculate cursive print, the first addressed to his father and the second to him. As he unfolded the two he saw the ring: the tiny slip of gold, decorative ruby encircled by two diamonds. He held it in between two fingers and then put it aside. He started with his father's letter.

It took only three sentences of apology before Chuck started to comprehend the magnitude of his original error. A paragraph and his hands started to shake, the tears behind his eyes threatened but he bit them back. They weren't his to cry. Just like the forgiveness hadn't been his to offer. He had never revenged a wrong with his own. His father had never been the unfaithful one. Bart had never driven his mother to kill herself. She'd chosen it out of her own guilt. Chuck had avenged nothing. He'd simply piled the hurt higher when his father must have been least able to handle it.

Chuck threw both letters on the table, pushed his feet harder into the carved wood surface and tried to control himself by shutting his eyes tight, pressing a hand to his lips so they couldn't waver.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis knocked respectfully twice without reply. Then she inched Chuck's door open, searched for the brunette. He wasn't there, the room was entirely empty. It made her rush in, knock twice on the ensuite before yanking that open. She'd have searched all the corners but she knew he was gone.

And she was the responsible party. It had happened on her watch.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck pulled his head from his lap, gave one look at either side of the table, at the battery and his phone. He contemplated bringing them back together but just for a moment. He sat straighter instead, kicked his loafers back to the ornate table and picked up the second page instead. He resettled himself before he read it, pushed himself back into the sofa, laid one arm against the back and dangled the note almost casually in his hand. It gave the illusion of a calm he didn't feel.

_Dear Charlie,_

_I am sorry for leaving you. It will always be my regret but I just can't continue to live life this way. It is too exhausting to be always this way and that, to be so sure of everything and then nothing at all. I've learned to hate the first as much as the second, the drive that brings me to act in ways I would never have imagined. The need to rebuild when my mind is too lost to contemplate. _

_I am slowly but surely destroying everything and everyone that had ever been important to me. My marriage is over. I was unfaithful and your father will never forgive me for it. Please forgive me Charlie but I can't endure the end of our family. I can not live apart, try to raise you knowing that my influence will only slowly ruin you as well._

_So I commend you into you father's care and him into yours. He loves you as much as I do. Please help him, protect him as I know you will. I could not have left you both if I did not know in my heart that you would find consolation in each other._

_I have left you my ring. Take it as a reminder to value the things that matter most, to not lose sight of those that you love because once you break that bond, it is gone forever. There are no second chances, no restarts in life. Once you damage the perfection you're left only with a crumbling masterpiece slowly falling to pieces around you. Take care never to offer that first crack._

_I will love you forever,_

_Mom_

Chuck refolded the note with calm precision, returned it to the envelope with his fathers', returned that envelope to his suit jacket pocket. He patted it once and then just stared into empty space. His first true response was to laugh, a kind of disjointed laughter that was not based in mirth but in the sour realization that his mother was exactly right in everything but her information had come too many years too late to help him.

His second response was to kick the coffee table across the room.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

When the wave of new arrivals parted to show one brunette with a set of roses, Serena didn't look at Dan first. She didn't see his hopeful smile, or the nervous shuffling of his feet. She stared at the flowers instead, eyes tracing the dips of each golden petal, the contrast between the smoothness of the skin and roughness of each thorn. It made her want to give in their battle of wills. Even if she was in the right, it still made her want to brush past their argument without a thought. She didn't have to. "I'm sorry Serena," Dan offered with the flowers. He held them out for her hands. "You were entirely in the right." That's what made her take them. "I'm sorry. I should have told you everything."

"I know that."

"I just," Dan took a deep breath. "I wasn't right. I'm not always right. I'm not always smart and I don't always make the correct choices."

"I know it put you in a difficult position."

"It did. But you should have taken preference." Dan met her blue eyes with his brown ones. "I said I wanted to have a grown up relationship and that's what grown ups do. I should have trusted you."

Serena's smile, which had been slowly forming, took over her face.

"Can you forgive me for being stupid?"

"How about I praise you for finally admitting it?" Serena said as her joy spread from her face to his.

"I deserve that."

"I deserve these," Serena decided with a look, then a smell of the yellow blooms.

Dan put a hand to her arm, let it graze her elbow and then upward. When she didn't push him back, Dan encircled his girlfriend's waist and pulled her flush to his. They hung there a moment, the in between state until Eric and Damien yelled out. "Go to it! We don't have the problem."

That made Serena meet Dan's lips through a giggle. It tickled the corners of his mouth as they pressed together, arms tightening as her lips parted to grant him entry. Their kiss deepened as the flurry of international arrivals passed by. Damien and Eric shared a single look before they laughed. Eric was about to say something when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the caller ID. It was Jenny. That alone made him silence it. He moved to put it back into his pocket but halfway through it rang again. It was Jenny again. He silenced it with more annoyance. She had a lot of nerve calling him. It took three more pushes before the phone stopped ringing altogether.

At least his phone. Dan's started again in sequence. Dan ignored it at first too. Why wouldn't he? He was wrapped in Serena but after a few moments the persistence broke them apart. It didn't take him long to pass the phone to Eric once he'd answered. Eric might have refused it on principal but he supposed there were more worthwhile things to cause a scene about.

"Jenny?"

"Eric! You have to come here now." Jenny called through the background din of music and yelling.

"Where is here?"

"I'm at Victrola _and so is Chuck_."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Every time Nate drew closer Blair drew further away. Her lithe body inched across the seat of limousine, finally pushing against the metal door. She didn't want to hold his hand. She didn't want the flowers he'd brought. She didn't want to talk to him so why was she here? Nate kept trying. Blair tried to be sympathetic for his effort but she couldn't bring herself to care. Something had died between them yesterday. To be more honest, whatever there was between them had died in junior year. She'd simply been optimistic, believing that some pieces had to remain, that it was hidden under mistrust or hurt or anger. Blair was beginning to realize it wasn't that at all.

"I have great news," Nate said in almost desperation. Blair forced herself to listen. He waited for her to turn her head away from the window, to focus on his blue eyes. She did. "My grandfather got me a spot at Yale." He waited for her to grow excited, to throw her arms or kiss him firmly. She did none of those. She just sat perfectly still, eyes rounding with each passing moment.

"You must be mistaken."

"No, I'm going to go there with you this fall. And Chuck."

Blair could feel her breathing slow at the thought. That's when she knew it was that moment Dan had alluded to. It was that time. It wasn't where Blair thought it would be. They were halfway over the Brooklyn bridge, miles of water rushing below and the sun dipping above. It coated the seats in orange and purple sunlight, illuminated Blair's final realization. It wasn't how Blair thought it would happen. She thought she'd be staring into a pair of brown eyes, not finding clarity in a richer blue. It didn't matter. It was still the moment. It was looking at the boy that had once meant the world to her, staring at a face that was more perfect than any she'd know and feeling absolutely nothing. It was realizing all she was tripping towards was a repeat of her time with Dan. It was understanding that she didn't want anyone but Chuck, regardless of where that took her and what it took from her. Perhaps it was unhealthy but it was true. "Did Chuck manipulate Nelly into giving up Valedictorian?" Blair asked even though she knew. She'd seen the exchange of looks, had seen Chuck approach Nelly before he'd left.

"I don't know," Nate tried to be casual. "What does that have to do..."

"Yes you do."

Nate gave a grunt of frustration, sat back further into the leather, eyes going to the window. "Does it matter?"

"It does," Blair decided.

"Blair..."

"Did he?"

"It doesn't mean anything!"

"I think it does."

"You're mine!" Nate finally snapped.

Blair's eyes rounded full at his admission. She shifted further away in her seat, pushed against the metal of the exit door. "Stop the car," She ordered.

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded," Nate promised with a hand out. "I'm sorry."

"You need to stop the car."

"Please," Nate took the deepest breath he could. "I'm sorry. Can we just keep driving to my grandfather's?"

"You need to stop the car." Blair assured him with a steady glare. She was done with this whole screwed up merry-go-round.

"Let's just keep going. I want us to..."

"There has been no _us _since junior year," Blair countered immediately. "And I don't want there to ever be again."

That truth hung between them a minute, couldn't be answered to or commented on. Silence hung between them until their phones chimed together. They grabbed them in sequence, Blair to deflect and Nate to regroup. The Gossip Girl blast drove away the necessity for either, gave them a new problem to focus on.

_**Chuck once was lost but now he's found,**_

_**Drinking half the freshman class into the ground,**_

_**These kinds of games they play,**_

_**Will they end with Chuck being sent away?**_

"Oh my god!" Blair's heart stopped over the text alone.

"He'd probably just blowing off some steam."

Blair stared at the blonde in total and absolute disbelief. "Are you even hearing the words that are coming out of you mouth?"

Nate didn't get the chance to answer. In the two second gap the photos started to load. By the time the fifth appeared, the one with Chuck standing atop a bar table, finger pointing across the bar and hair hanging in his face, Nate was the one to pound on the dividing glass and change their final destination.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So a week earlier than I thought it would be. I got some extra time while my son was off playing with his grandparents. Should have been marking projects but opps :) Expect regular posts after next week as I'm out for the summer._

_Bluestriker – here's more ;)_

_BrittyKay – Yeah, Nate is not good in this story. Does anyone think he still deserves a happily ever after?_

_MidnightSky – Henri owns a winery in Lyon. Bart was contemplating ruining him :) Ah, the Bass men and their scheming. Dan is actually going to end up kind of friends with both C & B. _

_Supernovelty – Yep, ding, ding Nate and Blair are done :)_

_Ingridmarie – I hope C's reaction to reading his mother's letter was alright. Oh who am I kidding? It was bloody awful (evil chuckle)_

_CBEBIW trory – S/D are still together. They just had a bit of a blip over the CV issue. Lewis and Bart...hmmm, I guess we'll see with those two._

_Annablake – I don't blame you for not paying attention to the NB scenes. They were always the last ones to get written (except this chapter which was Misty's letter). It was like pulling teeth. Ah..I can breath deeply now that they're done._

_Flipped – an honest talk..hmmm, Chuck has issues with putting his past to words. I think he'll figure it out in another couple posts though._

_Gossipgirlxcore – This is going to sound strange but have Chuck and Blair ever truly been apart in FTHEA. They've spend the entire story wanting each other more than anyone else. They just need to finally admit it to each other._

_Verybad4U – Nate's awakening is coming. He'd going to have to reconsider it all, his narcissism and self-absorption. _

_Up Next – The very last chapter to contains angst in the very last book of my trilogy. Wow, I'm feeling sentimental already. Oh you want the specifics.....not this time....you'll just have to wait._


	57. Chapter Twenty Three Part One

_A/N – Prepare yourself because we are ending the angst with one final MASSIVE bang :) Try humming "You Found Me" by the Fray ;)_

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Three – Part One**

_May 21, 2009_

_There were thirty-five photographs in total, a visual record of Chuck's meltdown that couldn't be erased. There were thirty-five photographs of Chuck trading shots with underclassmen, of jumping tables and laughing a little too obnoxiously to be fact. They all left me with only one thought. _

_Chuck wasn't that kind of alcoholic. He didn't exchange shots like a frat boy, build up to falling down within an hour. He had a tolerance, the oddest sense of control within his recklessness. He lived his life with a steady alcoholic drip, enough inebriation in every moment of the day to take the edge off, to keep life manageable. He didn't collapse until the day ended with him._

_Except he'd broken the mold the moment he abandoned that flask in his upper left pocket. _

_Blair Waldorf_

Eric found Chuck at the side of the club, strobe lights cutting patterns into his cheekbones. He dangled a glass of scotch in hand, had gathered three sophomores around. Jenny wasn't one of them. She was standing to the side, red plaid dress blending with her boyfriend's printed shirt. Marcus Anders had an arm protectively around her slim waist, was yelling something at Chuck that the boy was evidently ignoring. Eric didn't even break his stride as he moved to remove the drink from his brother's hands. "What do you think you're doing?" He called out as Chuck dipped the glass away from the younger boy's reach.

"What do you think _you're _doing?" Chuck spat as he turned. He didn't even flinch when he saw it was Eric. That made Eric flinch. The white of Chuck's eyes were run through in red, film of liquid turning reflecting the brown centre to a burned copper. Chuck's jaw went firm as he met his brother's eyes, cut lines that spread from the base of each chin to his neck. He relaxed them only enough to take another sip, to push past his brother and start down a row of seats. That made Eric wince deeper.

And that was before he actually watched his older brother walk. Chuck meandered through the groups of teenagers even though the line they provided was a straight one. When he hit the second table, Eric could hear his sister sigh from behind. "This isn't Chuck," She said to their group of four, boyfriends to complete their family unit.

Eric disagreed but now was not time to voice it. This was the external expression of everything Chuck held inside. His brother was strong until he broke, kept his tears behind closed doors, his fears expressed in writing but not in fact. The weakness played out behind his eyes, through his mind until it swelled enough to crack everything between. Then it was everywhere, from his staggering walk, cutting speech, washed out pupils. Then you couldn't help but see it. Eric could have explained it all but he had more pressing concerns. He set the straight path behind his brother, caught him easily and this time forced the glass of scotch from his fingers. He passed it back to Damien before Chuck's reflexes caught enough to try to get it back. Chuck stared back instead, a glare that lost it's strength with the lack of proper focus. Eric provided a glare of his own and for a moment they were locked in a stalemate. Chuck broke it when he grabbed a martini from a passing girl, downed it in a single sip and then with a step, threw it as hard as he could against the far wall, glass exploding on contact. Chuck arched one brow at the smash, put both his hands up. Despite one stumble to the right he was unmoved.

"Sit down."

"Not a dog." Chuck snapped in return.

"Sit in the booth," Eric tried again, wrapped his hand around his brother's arm and directed him to the closest. Chuck might have been of the mind to argue, but once Eric's arm was on his it was easier to agree than attempt the fight. Serena and Damien made the booth unoccupied. Dan stood back and stared in shock. Chuck collapsed into the leather seats, pulled himself the farthest from the front, used the table as a barrier. It didn't work. Eric took the spot beside him, ran his hands across the booth in an unintended match of his brother. Eric didn't say a thing. He was still trying to process exactly what was happening. He finally put his questions to words. "Why are you drinking Chuck?"

Chuck took a lazy look across the room, fingertips keeping an uneven rhythm on the table in front. When he traded the look for a roll of his head forward, a hand at the back of his neck, Eric traded his words for a touch. He put his hand on Chuck's arm. It was enough for Chuck to flinch away, glare unevenly in return. "Because I _want _to!" He threw out.

"That's bullshit."

"Actually. It's not," Chuck promised.

"Let's just get out of here," Eric suggested with a look at his sister. She nodded her head. "We'll head back to the house."

"Which house?" Chuck glared harder. "Your mother's house, my father's house."

"It doesn't matter," Serena interjected.

"We'll just head out, have a talk," Eric suggested. That made Chuck snort, an fierce exhalation of air.

"So caring," Chuck decided. "But haven't you figured out that it's not your job to care about me anymore. We're not family any longer." He reminded the younger boy. "So while it was cute to have a brother for a while, having some little kid following you around, that's just _pathetic_!"

Eric's eyes opened wide as he felt the verbal punch. He took a deep breath to clear the jab of pain it sparked. He took a deeper breath once he realized it wasn't going to roll off. So he stood back up, searched the room for a blonde head, gave himself another purpose to fill the moment until he could be alright. He saw Jenny and Marcus where they'd been left, moved in their direction. "Make yourself useful," Eric barked as he pushed by Dan. "Call Blair or something."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena took the lead role in the absence of her brother. She didn't dare to sit as he had or maybe she just wanted the advantage her height allowed. She leaned across the table, stared straight at her former brother as she spoke. "Do you remember when we talked about before?" She tried. "About the edge and how you sometimes forget where it is. Well Chuck, you're well past it now."

"Do you remember me saying I kind of _liked_ that?"

Serena leaned back in frustration, calves brushing her boyfriend. He put a hand to her back, rubbed three times as he whispered in her ear. "_What the hell is wrong with him_?" Dan didn't look at Serena, he couldn't take his eyes from the slow motion trainwreck in front of him.

"_Chuck is in a mood._" Serena mumbled in return.

"_That's a mood?_"

"_It's a Chuck Bass mood_." Serena decided as she regrouped. She leaned back across the table, tried to put a hand on Chuck's but he pulled his own immediately away. She put a hand to his chin, tried to get him to face her but he turned away. She tried so hard but all she got in return was a request.

"Leave me alone!"

"See the thing is, when you say that, that's when you most need someone there." Another voice joined their melee and Serena turned to see the appearance of her best friend. Blair had arrived with Nate in tow. The moment she saw her, Serena whispered a thanks to God and stepped back in relief. She let the brunette take the primary place.

Chuck wasn't ignorant of her arrival; he just couldn't look at her. His eyes went harder to the table, followed the grains of wood because following her was an impossibility. "Whatever you think you know."

"I know lots about you..."

"Of course you do!" Chuck threw sarcastically. "You all think you know _so much_ about my life."

"We've been there with you," Blair reminded him. "We know you."

Chuck shook his head almost violently, silence reigned for a moment until Chuck finally admitted. "How could you know everything when I know nothing?" His jaw cracked, nearly broke. His eyes disappeared between two open palms and for a shocking moment everything was returned to silence. Exchanged looks replaced conversation. They waited for Chuck to take that final step towards a total and absolute breakdown. It didn't come. His hands only wavered once before his face was uncovered, his teeth clenched so tight that the lines in his jaw were cut straight through.

"Chuck."

"Stop," He actually yelled. "Just stop!"

"Calm down." Blair advised.

"Why don't you calm down!"

"Come on Chuck, we're trying to help you," Serena promised.

"Haven't you all figured it out. I am beyond help!"

"That's not true. You just don't want anyone to help you." Blair called his game.

Chuck stared at the brunette, one long stare and then he shut his eyes. "_Fuck all of you_!" He offered up definitively, put his head back against the booth cushions and dismissed their collective presence.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric caught his former friend exactly where he'd left her. Marcus still had his arm around Jenny's waist, their eyes were fixed to the unfolding scene as much as the other hundred revellers. Eric didn't mix his words when he reached her. "How much has he had to drink?" Eric asked. The girl didn't need to say, it was in her eyes. The panic that proved it was the question she didn't want. Jenny leaned forward and whispered that number into her former friend's ear. It made Eric close his eyes in distress.

"Why did they serve him that much?"

"Are you going to cut the owner off?" Marcus asked. Eric supposed they wouldn't so he felt for the information that could calm him. He was certain he'd seen Chuck drink more, sure that his informal tallies had tripped higher through the roughest days. That was before Marcus delivered the final statement. "He had already been drinking before he got here." Marcus admitted and Eric squeezed his eyes harder. "I tried to get him to stop," Marcus promised. "But..." He didn't need to finish the thought. Why would Chuck takes advice on sobriety from that boy?

"How can he still be standing?" Eric asked as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Only 20% of alcohol is absorbed through the stomach." Damien provided.

Eric didn't have a moment to contemplate that information. His phone rang to offer another disturbance. When Eric saw the name his unrest returned to panic. He contemplated ignoring it outright, traded a look with his boyfriend but decided against his instinct. "Dr. Smith," Eric answered the phone with a longer look at his boyfriend. "Have I seen Chuck? He did." Eric put a hand to the wall beside him. "Yeah, he's with me. Don't you worry. We're taking care of him," Eric promised and shut the phone. He stared at it until the light dimmed to blackness.

"Why did you say he was okay?" Damien asked.

"What would you say to his...to her?" Eric asked as he put a hand over his mouth, removed it to curse. Damien didn't offer anything, just waited with him through the moment. "I've just got to make sure that he will be okay," Eric decided as he pushed back off the wall. He made it two steps towards his challenge before he hesitated. "Jenny," Eric turned back and met the blonde straight on for the first time since freshman year. "I won't forget your doing this," Eric promised.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had a cigarette out of his pocket by the time he opened his eyes again. His friends stared as he fumbled for his lighter, took three tries to open and another two to feed the flame. The end of white wavered at the end of his fingertips and no matter how hard he tried, Chuck couldn't focus enough to make it meet the blue fire. It cut something inside the hearts of his closest friends. Made them meet eyes even if they couldn't put their combined sentiment to words. Somehow under the rotating strobe lights, by the time Damien and Eric returned to fill out his saviours, Chuck got the thing lit. The waitress ignored the smoke as she put a glass of water beside their owner. It had been Eric's demand. Chuck gave it a single look and laughed between puffs of nicotine. He continued smirking as Blair and Eric went to work. They teamed together, tried to get Chuck to talk, to acknowledge, to even look at them. He wouldn't. He kept his eyes to the ceiling, to the table in front of him, to the crowds of people who had no chance of genuinely helping him. He kept his eyes from Eric because the boy was too good at pulling him back and Chuck had finally figured out that doing everything right didn't hurt any less then doing everything wrong. He kept his eyes from Blair because he could still remember her words and the promises he'd made. It was more. He couldn't look at Blair because looking at her meant seeing the blonde boy standing behind her. It made him drag harder on his cigarette, Blair and Eric's combined pleadings falling around rather than to him. So he didn't look at any of them, not even when Serena added her voice, when Damien gave it an attempt. He didn't even turn when Dan made his literary effort.

Their words all fell like too soft whispers until Nate offered up. Then Chuck remembered something he'd long since forgot. Somewhere through the haze or perhaps because of it Chuck remembered when he'd had his first cigarette. It'd been Nathaniel. Another party, another collection of adults they'd run to escape. This time was at the Archibald apartment, locked in a blue bedroom. The blonde nine year old had held out one of the Captain's, provided the lighter, offered his best friend fifty bucks to light it up. Chuck would choose to, he was the reckless one of the pair. So he did. Chuck had coughed at first, racking chokes followed by ineffectual breaths that Nate had laughed through. After a moment they had passed, and Chuck had become entranced by the circle of smoke he created, the slow clouding of the room and the stench of the burning flame. He'd doubled the stakes just to have a second. Remembering it made Chuck take the cigarette from his mouth. He stared at it once, watched the flicker of red fade to ash and the slow burning smoke swirl without him. Then he tossed it into the still full glass of water.

"Come on Chuck," Nate attempted further. "You don't want to do this."

"You're probably right," Chuck shot as he abandoned his escapism to met his former best friend straight in the eye. "But what do you want?"

Nate didn't have a response, didn't even fully understand the question.

"Is this really bothering you?" Chuck's voice dipped lower as his thoughts found a semblance of order.

"Of course it is."

"I mean I know you told me that it'd be okay to drink a bit," Chuck explained to his attentive audience. They turned that attention to Nate. "After a bad day. I know I've had more than a little," He admitted with a pause, "but it's been a _really_ bad day." Nate couldn't talk. Even if he had had the words, the crowd of eyes burning him from every side wouldn't let them form. "Why don't you have a drink with me?" Chuck took it further. He put a hand up and waved at the waitress. "A couple shots like before. You liked it better before didn't you?"

"I'm not going to...."

"Really?" Chuck's stare turned darker. "Because Eric destroyed my fun but y_ou always like to bring it back_."

"Chuck! I'm not going to get..."

"It's just a couple drinks Nathaniel. Nothing you haven't done with me a thousand times before."

"I'll do it," Blair spoke to the amazement of the entire crowd.

"You?" Chuck's bravado died with her offer. He turned to face her in bewilderment, brown eyes blending to brown beneath the flashes of red and yellow.

"What are you doing?" Eric yelled at Blair but she was unmoved.

"Two," Chuck threw out disconcerted. His disbelief grew as Blair nodded his head. All the arrogant assurance cracked through when the answer wasn't no. It wasn't right. No one was supposed to meet him at this place. So he upped the stakes to five but she didn't falter and somewhere in the quiet yes his last shield crumbled to pieces.

"If this is what you truly need to do than I'll do it with you but only if you leave with me once you're done."

"Don't," Eric grabbed her on the shoulder, shook his head like mad.

"What is your plan?" Blair hissed at the youngest.

"We're waiting for him to pass out," Eric admitted.

"You're waiting for...." Blair began in disbelief.

"It's going to happen," Eric promised.

"Then this won't make a difference?" Blair threw right back. She arched a brow as Eric's face went progressively paler.

"I can't watch this," Eric decided and turned his back on the entire table, walked far enough away to be swallowed by the crowd.

Blair let the younger boy go, turned her attention back to the older. "If I do this, you'll leave now," Blair sought the promise as the waitress made her way over.

Chuck never said so but somewhere in the silence his agreement was given. Chuck waited for that moment, the one where Blair gave it up, when she flinched or drew away or surrendered. The moment was made to scare her but he was the terrified one. Blair watched the ten shot glasses be laid out without fleeing. That wasn't right. It shouldn't have been like that. It couldn't be like that. The realization made him close his eyes, tears welling though he didn't understand why. He tried to hold them back, managed to keep them to a muted clouding that mingled with his previous inebriation to disappear entirely. He kept waiting for the moment that wouldn't come, hesitated until Blair's fingertips inched towards the first glass. Then he took a shaky arm and swept the entire table clear, spilled a river of alcohol over the wood floors. "You win," He promised though his eyes wouldn't relinquish the victory. They stayed on the table, hand covering as his sobs won their hard won victory. They started from the base of his throat but brought no tears. Chuck wiped self-consciously at his face only to find his fingertips dry. Chuck didn't dare to look up to see their comfort or surprise.

"Come with me," Blair took his hand away, held it tight, gave the tiniest pull to start him to standing. Chuck inched down the booth, met Blair's eyes again only as he put his feet beneath him. The six cried in chorus as he fell, twelve hands that couldn't stop him from hitting the bordering booth. His head grazed the edge with a sickening thump, body ended in a pile on the floor. When he looked up they could see the tiny trickle of blood, the small cut along his hairline.

"Are you okay?" Blair knelt beside him, put her hand to the wound but pulled it back just before she touched.

"Fine," Chuck promised, head wavering dangerously forward.

"Are you sure?" Eric asked "Your head."

"Head?" Chuck gave it a shake, put a hand first to the wrong side of his face. He followed it with the right, felt the blood and pulled the fingertips too close to his eyes to figure out what it was. He stared in confusion and that's when Damien edged his way from the back of the crowd. He grabbed at Chuck's neck, roughly, but the boy hardly even noticed. He didn't wince or try to pull away. Chuck barely turned his head.

"What the hell are you doing?" Blair slapped Damien's hand away, exposed three dark red nail marks left behind.

"Someone needs to call an ambulance," Damien ordered. "Now."

The rest hesitated until Eric barked at the lot. "Listen to him." Serena took out her phone first; dialled the three numbers.

"I'm okay," Chuck promised even as he leaned heavier against the booth behind, shoulder's slumping progressively further down towards the floor. "Except I'm going to be sick."

Damien was still standing the closest. He offered an arm that Chuck took willingly. Dan hesitated at first, waited to see if Nate would move to the left side. He didn't. The blonde stayed frozen to his spot, eyes following the disaster with the rest but face devoid of any true reaction. Dan held back until Damien stumbled with his pull, Chuck's back hitting the booth with enough force to start the first dry heave. Then Dan pushed past the rest, hitched his shoulder under the left side and pulled in time with the Brit.

The bathroom was a marvel to behold, brushed metal walls and navy tiles offset by crystal chandeliers and mood lighting. The beauty was entirely wasted for those six. Dan and Damien had hitched Chuck under their shoulders, transported him to the closest booth. The rest lingered in the open space, saved the sight if not the sound of Chuck retching until his stomach was empty. They winced collectively with every heave; a battle of wills between not wanting to hear the ugly truth and being unable to ignore it. Blair crossed her arms, pulled them tight while Serena chased away the onlookers. Her fierceness returning in defence of her family. She shut the door tight when a few underclassmen tried to snap pictures, crushed a cell beneath her Prada stiletto when one of them returned more successfully.

Chuck was fully gone by the time he reemerged. What had been a set of hands to help, became two set of hands to keep him upright. Chuck's face had turned an ashen grey, his eyes dropping closer to nothing as they moved him. The two brunette boys took charge naturally. There was a reason for it. Damien, because of his brother's history, had studied first aid to level three. And Dan? While his classmates took sailing or equestrian lessons, Rufus had insisted Daniel do something practical. He had his first aid too. They weren't the only ones. Nate had training but the boy was completely ineffectual in that moment. He had been completely silent and aside from the moment they'd found Chuck.

So Dan and Damien took care of the other brunette, sat Chuck against the nearest wall, tried to keep him upright as slipped beyond consciousness. They tried their best to do the right thing but everything happened too fast for them to keep up. His shoulders slipped down the wall, head falling finally to one side. "He's not breathing properly," Dan tried to whisper it across the room. The collective gasp proved he wasn't soft enough. Damien was already at the same conclusion, kept counting breaths as the second hand of his Rolex moved.

"We need to strip him," Damien decided. "Remove his jacket and tie," he barked to his compatriot. They pulled the thick wool suit jacket first, pressed it into Blair's hand. The purple bow-tie ended on the tile floor, buttons of his dress shirt loosened and belt removed. They ridded Chuck of anything that might inhibit his breathing. Damien put two fingers to the older boy's throat, felt temporary relief at the strong pulse he found there. It disappeared with the shocking realization that everything they had done wasn't helping. Chuck's breathing was still dangerously slow, the corner of each lip paling and turning the softest shade of blue.

"Do you think he inhaled...?" Dan started.

"Pull him down," Damien decided. The brunettes met in silent agreement, pulled Chuck's limp body the last few inches to the floor. Damien checked his airway the best he could. "He's going to need AR," The Brit put it to words first, two boys stared at each other until one offered.

"I'll do it," Dan tried to forget what he'd promised the moment he did.

The moment Dan's lips covered Chucks, that's when Blair remembered that even when she won she still lost. The reality was beyond what she could watch. She turned her entire face away, fixated on the tan and copper door instead, allowed the trembles in her chest rather than the tears. Then she felt it, one hand beside hers, one set of fingers wrapping firmly through hers. When she turned she saw Eric standing there, every emotion she felt mirrored on the younger boy. She squeezed his hand harder because she knew he needed the comfort as much as her.

Within two minutes Serena stepped back from the door and two paramedics rushed into the small space. Dan and Damien happily relinquished their space to the professionals, joined the rest of the queue against the furthest wall. The paramedics assessed the situation, Damien offering up the comments that he could. There were two men dressed in uniform, one black and the other white. They replaced Dan's rescue breaths with a proper breathing mask. The lighter of the paramedics ran to the ambulance, brought the stretcher and an IV. They hooked it up right in the bathroom. That made Blair nervous.

Her panic hadn't relaxed by the time they had Chuck through the bar and into the ambulance at the front. All Serena's forcefulness was wasted. She didn't have enough time to smash every phone in Victrola and the cameras followed the paramedics with every step, through the front and outside. It guaranteed one thing, Bart wasn't going to be able to cover this. The paramedic had everything loaded when he turned to the crowd of six gathered. "Only two at the most," He said firmly.

The group paused only a moment, long enough to pass glances between former siblings, closest friends and once lovers. Then Nate gave the definitive statement. "It should be Blair and Eric," He put it to words, watched the two disappear behind the white and red metal doors. Serena stepped into the street to hail a cab. Nate didn't wait until the sirens disappeared into the night, didn't take the taxi with the rest. He disappeared back inside instead. The rest let him go with nothing beyond a look.

The unspoken consensus was that he didn't deserve much more.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The most vivid and perhaps the strangest thought Eric had while the ambulance soared through the night streets was that the siren ought to be louder. He'd always expected the sirens would echo through the metal space but it was only a muted wail in comparison to the paramedic's discussions. Eric never been in an ambulance before, or at least he had no recollection of the time he'd been the passenger. Then he'd been as unconscious as his brother was now. His skin must have been as pale, face hidden beneath a breathing mask, tube in one arm. The full picture made Eric lightheaded which was wrong because he had learned to manage himself. He didn't get overwhelmed anymore but staring at his brother lying motionless he couldn't help but feel everything rise up. So he kept his eyes just to the side and listened to the unnaturally soft siren.

Blair didn't hear it at all. She was too focused on every movement of the paramedics' hands, one white and the other black. She watched the two faces as they worked, tried so desperately to figure out the ending before they got there. When the black hands stopped moving Blair's heart stopped with them. She stared at the older man, counted through the ten seconds while he did his checks. Chuck's hand broke her fears before the term stabilized could. Blair didn't even realize she was holding onto Chuck until his hand shifted in hers. She closed her fingers, ran her thumb against his palm as it shut slowly around her. She focused so intently on his return that she missed the question when it came.

"What is his name?"

"Charles Bass," Eric didn't even notice his mistake.

"No, it's Chuck. He likes to be called Chuck." Blair corrected him.

"Chuck," The lighter paramedic offered once without response. He raised his voice slightly and said it again. "Chuck. Chuck Bass."

Blair's thumb continued its journey across Chuck's palm while the boy started to stir, feet falling lightly to one side. His head stayed still, eyes shut lightly against the florescent light.

"Charles Bass," The darker paramedic tried and Chuck's head turned to one side, eyes opening again at last.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The skies opened sometime after twelve, as if God himself was raining his fury on Nate's blonde head. He lingered in it, let the chill of his drops mingle with the heat of his, turning them both a muted warmth that didn't ease the growing anger inside. It was an unfamiliar rage, not like the justified fury he lived in or the sting of bias he was sure was always painted against him. It wasn't directed outward, at the hundred improbable or inconceivable wrongs he was convinced the world threw him. The anger was directed within and the unfamiliarity of that made it terrifying.

Nate checked his watch against the light of the subway train. He should be at the hospital, gathered with the rest of his friends but he couldn't face either them or what he'd done. So he was headed in a train car going the opposite way. His head dipping forward as his hand ran through it, back to front, blonde locks to closed mouth. They would all hate him and he couldn't blame a single one. So he went to the one who would help him understand.

Vanessa didn't expect it would be him when the bell rang and she wasn't happy that it was him when she opened the door. Her lips pursed, and for the first time in all their dealings the disgust and loathing won out over everything softer. Nate waited for the slam of the door but it never came. Vanessa turned her face, her back, her feet away; took long strides as she paced in the opposite direction.

But she left the door open.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Before you yell at me remember that I could have cut the chapter when Dan started AR. I was so terrified to post this chapter because of the content but I got over it ;) I apologize in advance to anyone who is pre-med or had other medical training. I took the information I could and worked with it. Okay, so I'm curious. How many more chapters do people want to read. I had planned twenty-four chapters in total but I have lots of little mushy ideas to fit between my last few scenes so if people want another one or so I could do that.  
_

_Ingridmarie – Yeah, Bart screwed up again. He's just emotionally neutered._

_Teddybear – You're the one who guessed that Chuck's relapse was bad :) Congrats. You get the gold star ;) And yes Blair should have found out for herself but she didn't get the CN dynamic fully at the time. This story is pretty well over. I have about 10-12 scenes to finish. It just depends how much mush people want me to write in between.  
_

_Bluestriker – thanks_

_oc-journey06 – C is going to get a talking to from a few key players next chapter :)_

_Sky Samuelle – Nate is about to get the tongue-lashing from Vanessa. Will that be sufficient?_

_Flipped – Yep, Nate needed the worst to feel guilty too._

_MizuRyuu – I think what happened here gives Nate the chance to reconsider himself. Does it mean he'll be redeemed. I'm still undecided._

_BrittyKay – I can honestly say that this will be the last time that C ever drinks? Will that qualify as getting better?_

_Annablake – Eric and Blair are the two most important ppl for Chuck. At least N recognized it here._

_Midnight Sky – I think it finally dawned on Chuck here that N is not the friend that he needs. He finally figured out their dysfunctional dynamic._

_Thebarstool – aww, thanks :) Vanessa is going to take N to task. I hope that will be sufficient for everyone._

_CBEBIW – No hints, except for next post (see below)._

_Up Next – If you haven't finished your altar to Eric then you have a couple more days. Chuck hears some information he really needs to and makes some life altering choices ;)_


	58. Chapter Twenty Three Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Three – Part Two**

_The dew was still on the ground when they reached Central Park. Nate and Chuck ran at the first patch of grass, Misty's admonishment of "Charlie, stay close" falling as ineffectually as she knew it would. Anne Archibald didn't even bother; to her it was enough that the boys had stayed by their side from the townhouse to there. They were eight, old enough to have gone to the playground alone except they lived in New York and the last time Misty had left Chuck in the care of another, Bart had taken a conference call and Chuck had jumped from a swing at full extension. He'd broken his arm in three places._

_So she kept him close. Her toes glistened with the morning dew, red sandals forming a line through the lush green. Chuck had laid his enormous purple and red kite on the grass, corners damped through by the time he pulled. It was an enormous yank that did nothing but flip the box kite on its side. Nate grabbed one corner and tossed it up. It ended back on the ground. That made Misty smile, jog a few steps to join the boys. She grabbed the central beam of wood, held it as high as her petite form allowed while her son ran. He'd let out too much string to start, had to run a third of the way across the field before she felt the tug and let the kite fly free. Nate ran beside the brunette, blonde hair kept long enough to jump and then fall with the wind. The two boy managed three circles before the wind died down and turned their game into a nothing more than a dragging competition._

_Then the boredom set in. Chuck watched his mother for a minute. She was deep in conversation with Anne. The two were as close as their sons. Chuck knew his mother would be occupied for a time. He took one look at his best friend and then handed him the kite string, ran across the grass until he reached the tallest oak tree he could find, the one he was most determined to master. He was at the top before Misty turned another look at the field. Her panic was instantaneous, building upward when she saw the blonde still standing at the bottom of the tree. She ran right over, thick green print dress floating behind her in the breeze that was created. She could barely see Chuck, he was nothing more than tiny flashes of red through the fall foliage. "Charles Bartholomew Bass," Misty yelled through the thick green leaves. "Get down from there this instant." She used her strongest voice but she was never really that strong. She had tears in her eyes already. _

_A tiny face appeared at that, a long look down and Misty's panic was reflected in the son. It was odd because even at eight Chuck could put up a front. He put a patent leather loafer on the branch below him, made his way down five times slower than he had upward. Misty watched every movement with a deepening sense of dread. It wasn't unfounded. A third of the way down, still twenty-five feet in the air, Chuck missed a branch. His feet slipped into empty space, dangled there for a moment as he held on for his life. His face went red before the fingers slipped and he fell. _

_Chuck fell nearly five feet before before he could grab at a branch wide enough to hold his weight. He hit the truck with enough force that he ripped a hole not only in his pants but in the skin underneath. It made him scream out in pain but he held fast, waited until the shock passed to open his eyes again. Then he stared down at his mom and the pale face that matched his. Chuck crept down the remaining branches with even more care, double and triple checked each branch before he stepped. When he finally reached the bottom his mother hugged him so tight that he ought to have pulled away in disgust. He didn't. He buried his face into her shoulder instead. _

_Misty banned him from the park for a whole month but the boys snuck back within a week and climbed the same damn tree._

Nate pushed his glass from one hand to the other as he finished the story. There was only water in it. He could have used something stronger, Vanessa might have offered except who would want alcohol on that night? "He'll be fine," Nate promised. "Chuck always does the craziest, stupidest things but he always ends up okay in the end."

Vanessa took another sip of her tea. She wasn't sure whether to disagree or not. She wasn't even sure it was her conversation to partake in. After all, she had done as much, if not more to Chuck than Nate had. Of course, she'd never played the role of closest friend either.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck's friends took a whole section in the emergency waiting area. They wrapped their legs under the plastic seating, linked arms while Dan disappeared to get them all glasses of coffee. Damien formed the furthest border, his boyfriend anchored firmly to his right. Eric had dropped his jacket somewhere behind himself, occupied himself by running the suede belt between the fingers of one hand. The other hung possessively over Blair's green pumps, her feet parked just beside his lap. Blair's blue dress had been swallowed up by Chuck's jacket. She had slipped it on. Perhaps it was inappropriate but there was a draft and her sleeveless dress didn't offer up much protection. Besides, the scent of lemon and tobacco was helping to comfort her. Her head was reclined against her best friend's, brunette curls mixing with short lines of blonde. Serena had tossed her gold purse on the neighboring chair, left a spot for Dan. Her attention wasn't there, it was fixed on her best friend's slow breathing. They were all exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that went beyond transatlantic flights to something more fundamental. Their group played the waiting game because the nurse refused to let them do anything else. She dropped them little updates every few minutes but generally the entire staff passed the group of teenagers by. And the updates? It was clear that Chuck was _fine _within fifteen minutes of arriving but what did _fine_ mean? This was the third crisis in less than six months. Would Chuck really ever be _okay_? That's why when the sliding doors opened at the front, and the first adult arrived the five jumped up in anticipation.

"Yes he'd conscious," Lewis promised as she emerged from the night air. "He's at Columbia," Lewis spoke as she walked, passed by the cellular signs without so much as a second glance. "Because they brought him here. I don't know why. I think you'd better get here before you start worrying about transferring hospitals. I realize that you just landed. How long? _That_ long to clear a runway? Just do your best but call me before you're in the air. Yes I'll call you first if anything changes." She closed the phone and pocketed it in her track pants.

Lewis stopped in her sneakers, took a long glance at the group of teens. Her loose fitting black track pants were paired with an oversized Harvard sweatshirt. The look was completed by the black sweat band that she had wound through her blonde bob. Lewis acknowledged them with a turn of her head but didn't stop to speak. She continued towards the nurses station, grabbed the first person she could find wearing scrubs. "I'm here about Charles Bass."

The nurse gave her one look from head to toe and then pointed to the teens already waiting. "So are they."

"And?"

"Why don't you take a seat with the rest of Charles' friends." The nurse suggested and kept right on walking.

Lewis stood frozen a moment in surprise. The portly nurse got a fifteen step advantage before Lewis used a voice unfamiliar to all but the teens sitting in a semicircle. "You don't get to walk away from me," She barked into the division.

"And out comes the teacher voice," Eric supplied for the benefit of his friends. It didn't garner much of a chuckle. The other three were too intent on following the blonde's movements as she marched across the floor.

"If you're going to play the bitch card," The nurse explained once Lewis reached her. "Then let me advise you that the brunette already tried it."

"Excuse me!"

"Listen, I need a _parent_ or _guardian_. I've already explained that to the other teenagers so I suggest you go sit with them."

Lewis tried to take a deep breath as her face turned a dangerous shade of red. "I'm going to let _that_ go because I realize that you don't know who you're talking to. _His father_ asked me to come here."

"And what is your relationship to the family?"

The entire row of teens held their breath. They were curious too.

"That isn't important," Lewis evaded. "What's important is that Bart asked me to manage things in his absence."

"You?" The nurse gave her one more look over, a little closer this time.

"_Yes, me_!" Lewis' voice rose a little harder.

"And who are you?"

"Dr. Lewis Smith," Lewis offered without the hand out. It made the nurse do a third look, study Chuck's file in more detail.

"Are you the family physician?" She asked in disbelief.

"I'm a psychologist," Lewis explained. She flashed her identification when the nurse still didn't believe her.

The nurse actually snorted as she gave the information below the metal cover a longer look. "This family could use one."

"_What the hell is that supposed to mean_?" Lewis' voice rose higher with her disgust.

"Please," The nurse shut the file at last. "With _this_ history, the family needs a whole board of doctors."

"What is _wrong_ with you? You don't talk about m..._a_ family like that!"

"I'm taking odds on the nurse getting bitch slapped," Eric offered to his group of five.

It almost looked like Eric would be right. Lewis reached her entire body forward, finger dangling dangerously close to the nurse's face. It never connected, just moved lower to grab the metal case. "You can't read that," the nurse countered immediately, tried to pull the clipboard back but Lewis was too strong for her. She yanked until the fat woman let go. "That's confidential!"

"It's good that you summarized it then," Lewis said with a step to the right.

"I can't give you medical information without the consent of a parent or guardian." The nurse promised after another failed grab.

Lewis never returned the files. She grabbed her cell phone and tossed it at the nurse instead. "So call Bart Bass," She advised as she flipped to the first page. "He's number three on my speed dial."

"He used to be two," Eric pointed out. He'd learned that little nugget over brunch with his mother.

The nurse flipped the phone open, got as far as checking the information. She stopped when she found the elder Bass' number where it was promised. "I'm sure it'll be alright," She backtracked nervously. "Considering you're a doctor and working with the family and all."

"I'm not clinical," Lewis smiled innocently as she walked away. Well not really. She might have been clinical when it came to this family but that was closer to_ clinically insane_. The truth made the nurse swallow but not as deeply as Lewis did when she reached page five.

"Do you think she's on overdose one or two?" Eric said dismissively.

"Eric!" Blair jabbed one of her heels into his thigh. "_Really!_"

"You have to forgive him," Serena explained for her brother's benefit. "He gets even more sarcastic when he's nervous."

Lewis read a few more pages before she snapped the folder shut and pressed it back into the nurse's thick hands. The nurse waved once more to the waiting seats. Lewis didn't even give them a look. "Now you're going to take me to see Chuck," She said with brusque forcefulness. It worked. The nurse started down the hallway with the blonde in tow. Lewis paused only briefly as she passed the teens, long enough to point at the youngest of the crowd. "You should have told me the truth," She snapped with a wave of her finger.

It made Eric inch down in his seat. He didn't have a witty comeback.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate stretched his feet to their full length below the breakfast bar, he ran his toes along the thick wood, arched his back and then settled his spine even lower. Vanessa wrapped her fingers tighter to her tea cup as she studied him. She traced his cheekbones with her eyes, studied the depth of his blue eyes but not in fascination. She was trying to figure out what the hell he'd been thinking. "I really didn't see this coming," Nate swore between a chug of tepid water.

"Really?" Vanessa's eyebrow crawled high at the thought. "When you encouraged him to drink you didn't think he'd get wasted?"

Nate shut his eyes in guilt.

"You did encourage him didn't you?" Vanessa pushed the knife in a little deeper.

Nate shook his head to admit that he had.

"Why did you do it?" Vanessa asked. "The boy's an alcoholic!"

"I know it was wrong," Nate admitted. "But I thought he'd just have a few drinks and I'd get _my _Chuck back. The fun Chuck who didn't care about grades, or family or anything but having a good time."

"You wanted to live your life with the caricature?"

"At least I never had to live up to that boy."

"So you'd prefer he be miserable so you wouldn't have to be?"

"He wasn't miserable," Nate promised. "He was just..."

"Convinced that his father hated him."

"I'm glad they worked things out," Nate promised. It couldn't sound sincere when he'd already admitted the contrary.

"Really?"

"I know I screwed up but I just didn't think Chuck would take it this far."

There was something in Nate's statement that made Vanessa nauseous. It was the wording, the unspoken assumption that Nate's sole wrong was in not realizing his friend would nearly drink himself to death. It wasn't in plotting against his best friend, simply that the plot had gone beyond what he could control. "Of course you didn't. Realizing that would require you taking your head out of your own ass for once." She shoved the knife full and Nate actually gasped at the cut. "I used to think that your narcissism was charming, your flightiness endearing. It didn't bother me that you didn't think all your decisions through, that you operated as much on whims as plans. I actually thought it was cute. That was before your whims _hurt_ _me_."

"Vanessa...I..."

"Do you ever have a reason for the things you do?" Nate turned his eyes to the table. "Or do you even realize how much doing only what _you_ want hurts other people. I was a _good_ girlfriend to you. I didn't do anything wrong."

"I know that."

"So why did you cheat on me."

Nate took a deep breath as the table jumped beneath his eyes. "I don't..."

"_You don't know_. That's the point Nate. No reasons, no genuine concern for anyone but yourself. I'm not going to even try to tell you what you should have done with Chuck. Lord knows I have my own responsibilities to live up to with that boy. But I will tell you this. You should take this situation as an opportunity to take a good, long look at yourself and decide if you're really as noble as you like to pretend."

"I just..."

"Now you _just_ need to leave." Vanessa finished as she took the glass of water from her exes hand. She dumped the contents in the neighboring sink and waited with a brow arched. She waited until Nate rose in defeat before she finished the sentiment. "Don't come back until you have the answer."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

When the first parent arrived, all but one of the teens stared in shock. It wasn't Bart Bass, that man was still in the air somewhere over the Great Lakes. It wasn't Lily Van der Woodsen. She had called her youngest in the second hour. Eric and Serena had rolled their eyes in sequence at her _concern_. It wouldn't be until six hours later, when the Van der Woodsens returned home to find the toddling green-eyed addition to the house, that the siblings would admit they had underestimated their mother. This parent wore a green and yellow striped vest that the Captain would never be seen in but why would Howard come here? His own son was nowhere to be found.

Blair sat straighter as her father entered their waiting room. The teens had been transferred to a private room after the first paparazzi sighting. Blair hadn't called her father. No one had touched their phone since Gossip Girl had linked to TMX and TMX had reported that the only son of Bart Bass had died in a drug and alcohol related overdose. Sometimes it was better to _not_ listen to the gossip.

"Sweetheart," Harold tilted his head to one side, indicated the door as he smiled at his daughter. She pulled her legs down from where they were propped to the side, brushed back her knotted curls and stepped to meet her father. He pulled her to his side immediately, gave a kiss to her tangles, leaving one arm around her shoulders. "How are you doing?" He asked as they walked away.

That's when Eric understood how, despite everything that had happened to her this year, Blair had come out stronger rather than weaker. She'd crawled upward rather than falling into the abyss, transformed from a girl whose constant weakness was hidden behind an overly strong front, from a girl who needed the constant reinforcement of an army of admirers, to a girl who had genuine confidence from within. She no longer needed to control everything and everyone around her, had learned when to push forward and when to step back for the benefit of her own sanity.

She'd found that illusive calm within her madly swirling life.

By the time Bart arrived at the hospital the photographs were no longer taken by teenagers on cellular phones. There were real paparazzi taking footage from the front entrance, providing slides that would go international. Bart put up one hand to deflect, the other still on his cell as he entered the space. Lewis met him at the entrance, closed her phone in time to his. "Where is he?" Bart asked first. He'd gotten the update before he left the car.

"Fifth room on the left."

"Still in the emergency ward?" Bart was not impressed.

"They're keeping a close eye on him," Lewis promised. They'd be stupid not to.

"Have you talked to him?"

"Just briefly."

"What did he say to you?"

"He had a breathing mask on at the time," Lewis explained. It was a weak argument. Chuck could easily have talked through it, he had just chosen not to.

"A breathing mask?" That made Bart halt his forward momentum. He stood right in the center of the bustling hallway.

"Apparently his breathing went dangerously slow for a period of time. One of his friends had to give him AR."

Bart stopped breathing himself a moment at the thought. "Who?"

"Dan," Lewis explained.

"Humphrey?" Bart could help the mutter of disbelief as he started walking again. He made a brief detour to the group of teens, shook Dan's hand without a word and then continued on to his son's room. Chuck was in the smallest room at the back. It could have been an insult except it was the only single room. It was better small than sharing with the masses.

The breathing mask was gone by that time, the IV in his arm the only evidence that Chuck wasn't just sleeping. He was lying on his side, brown hair falling from his head to the thick cotton pillow beneath his head. Dark lines marred his eyes and his skin was still closer to ash gray than a healthy pink but despite these things, he looked peaceful. His breathing was even and strong and his face relaxed and calm. He was returned to that boy, the one full of innocence and vulnerability. He looked like Bart's little boy again and so Bart sat rather than stood, studied the image rather than waking his son.

He didn't have long to commit the memory, Chuck started to stir within a minute. He opened his eyes slowly, took a moment to focus on his father's face. "Is everything alright?" Chuck asked his father between a sleepy yawn. He put a hand to rub at his sleepy eyes, to cradle his aching head. That's when he noticed the tube hanging from his arm, felt the familiar pains in his stomach and knew. That's when his face changed back to the boy he was, darkened in total humiliation. That's when the voice went from open to closed. "Please leave," Chuck turned his face away. The request was nearly polite at first. Bart didn't listen.

"I don't think..."

"You need to get out." Chuck swore again, the red starting to crawl into his ashen cheeks again.

"Charles."

"You need to get out and leave me alone." Chuck promised as he turned fully over, pressed his face into the pillow, erasing the image if not the sound of his father.

"We should talk..."

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Chuck pulled the pillow right over his head, covered the humiliation that was building from his cheekbones to the sides of his temple and through every heartbeat within.

Bart tried to touch his son then. That was an even greater mistake. It made Chuck yell at last. A litany of "Get out," that finally succeeding in making Bart flee. The father's entire body was shaking by the time he reached the hall, stayed like that until a nurse went the other way and Lewis reached his side.

"He'll be okay," Lewis promised. She put a hand awkwardly to the older man but he exchanged that for a crushing hug. She tried to pull back at first but the feeling passed. She nestled her chin under his instead. "He's just upset right now."

The awkwardness returned by the time they joined the rest of Chuck's queue back in the waiting room. Bart and Lewis sat beside each other, he tried to hold her hand but she pulled it firmly back, laid it in her lap instead. He leaned over to speak privately to her and she leaned a little further to the right to keep the distance. That's when the rest of the teens got the answer to the nurses' question, the one about their relationship. Apparently it was back to nothing.

"Can we see him now?" Eric asked first.

"Because you want to be his verbal punching bag?" Lewis countered. It made the teens understand what had made Bart so pale. They could have asked for the specifics but who wanted to hear them? So they kept the conversation neutral, waited for something.

"Someone should call Vanessa," Blair offered up as the third hour bled into the fourth.

"Why?" Eric glowered at the idea.

"Because she's his..."

"Nothing! She is absolutely nothing to him."

"He and she..."

"Chuck doesn't even like her," Eric broke in. "He loves you and _you know that!_" Blair folded her legs at the truth and for a moment it looked like that would be the extent of Eric's rant. He sat back in his chair but only long enough to smooth the pleats of his dress pants. Then he stood with far more force. "And while we're on the topic of love," He gave the entire room one steely glare, crossed his arms and waited for total attention. "I love Damien and he loves me," Eric started with the smug revelation. "Serena and Dan," He turned to the only other confirmed couple. "Thank God you both figured things out because it was starting to become painful to watch." He gave a mock clap and then continued down the line. He eyed Lewis next. "I have no clue why and you should probably reconsider, but you so obviously love Bart." "And you?" Eric turned his glare to his former stepfather. "Those little butterflies you keep feeling. Those are symptoms of _love._" He rolled his eyes in genuine disgust, crossed his arms when he ended back at Blair. "Blair," he shook his head almost sadly. "You will never love Nate the way that you do Chuck, although Vanessa might. And Nate?" Eric finished with a final angry exhalation. "He mostly loves himself!" Eric managed two steps towards the door before he turned back. "So for the love of God and all that is holy. Can you all just work things out already?" Eric finished with an agitated shudder that spread from his head and through his body.

He had only one final thought as he walked away. Before he moved to England he was going to have to hire a babysitter for the entire lot.

The rest had many more thoughts, enough that their combined roar turned the space uncomfortably quiet. "I'll see if they're done with Chuck," Lewis nearly launched herself from her chair.

Blair didn't bother with a pretence. She wrapped Chuck's jacket tighter to her frame and ran right after Eric. He hadn't gone far, you couldn't go far within a hospital. He'd just made a few circles of the emergency department. When he caught sight of Blair in his peripheral vision he marched a little faster again. She wasn't easily deterred. She fell into step beside him.

"I've told you what you needed to know," Eric said before she could speak. "The rest you need to find out for yourself."

Blair ran her fingertips up and down Chuck's jacket in frustration as Eric restored some distance. She considered following him but that thought died as her fingers felt the outline of something in the front breast pocket. Blair pushed her manicured fingernails inside the wool, pulled out an envelope with familiar cursive crisscrossing the front.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck wrote a few more lines, stared up at the blonde woman sitting the side and then scribbled out another three sentences. Lewis was sitting calmly beside him, flipping through a copy of Shape as if she didn't have a care in the world. He wasn't sure whether he liked that or not. He'd already tried snapping at her too. She'd told him to stop being childish and turned another page. Chuck tapped his pen against his journal four times and then cut their silence with a question."What do you see when you look at me?"

Lewis closed the magazine in her lap, met the younger boy in the eye and considered her words. "I see potential murdered by circumstance."

"So you see a victim?"

"No," Lewis said firmly. "You have been as complacent in your circumstance as anyone or anything else."

That made Chuck turn away again, eyes tapering with his thoughts. He considered her words a long time and then spoke again. It wasn't for clarification but just to expand the thought. "Can you tell me about yourself?"

"About what?"

"You told me in January that you did all sorts of stuff when you were young, stuff that was worse than your homemade tattoo. Can you tell me what you were like at my age?"

"At your age I was an upstanding citizen," Lewis remembered. "I had to be, I was still on probation." Chuck arched a brow before she could continue. "I think you want to know about before that."

Chuck nodded and she considered his question with as much diligence as he had her answer, debated where she ought to start. Chuck grew impatient in the interim and reworked his original question. "Were you ever like me?"

"No," Lewis admitted and then pulled back. "I mean there were parts of me that are similar. I don't like to get close to people, I always keep my distance."

"So you were like me."

"In some ways, though to be honest I was most like your friend Nate."

"Nathaniel?"

"I had a chip on my shoulder the size of a small African nation," She admitted. "I was convinced the entire world had done me wrong."

"You did have it pretty bad."

"I was a drama queen who refused to recognize that I was as responsible for my problems as anything or anyone else." Lewis promised. She put her magazine aside as she deepened the thought. "Did you know I was supposed to be adopted. When I was twelve, after my grandmother died."

"I always wondered about that," Chuck admitted. "You must have been one cute kid after all."

"I was," Lewis admitted with a tiny smile. The smile disappeared with the rest of her statement. "But I was also a thief with a fondness for running away."

"You?"

"I was six years old when I ran away for the first time."

"At six?"

"I was sleeping at the park on the corner when the police found me, curled up in one of the crawling tubes."

Chuck didn't know whether to be impressed or disturbed. The digging at the base of his stomach pushed towards the second emotion.

"You see, I wanted to have a family but I found it hard to deal with when the offers came because I was always emotionally detached. Everything was always cute and easy in the beginnings, for the first few weeks or months but as soon as anyone started to actually act like a parent to me. When they did the parent-teacher stuff, or tried to discipline me it got too real. I had to get away so I'd spend nights at my friends houses, or a hundred other stupid places. I once even camped out in a hospital overnight."

"What made you break the habit?"

A flicker of something passed over Lewis' face before she answered. "I moved into a place that I couldn't run away from." She explained. "When I was eleven years old," Lewis backtracked. "The social worker told one of my families that I would probably always be the way I was. He said, right in front of me, that kids who lose their parents at the age I did, they often have mental and emotional problems for the rest of their life. And believe me, I took that little statement and ran with it. I dyed my hair black, started wearing ripped flannel and basically went through this whole phase where I was convinced that I was destined to be fucked up forever. It took me a long time to figure out that life has no predestination. That if you end up in a bad place it's only because you believed that's where you belonged. My adoption fell through because I couldn't imagine having a family."

"Who were they?"

"One of the foster families that cared for me. I'd been in their care for a couple years when they made the offer but it came with an ultimatum. I had to stop stealing their pocket money, and running away if I wanted to become an official part of their family."

"You didn't?"

"I forged a cheque for a thousand dollars, took a joy ride to Montreal. Somewhere in between I lost my friends along with a couple days. I woke up in a police station. To this day _I don't even remember my thirteenth birthday_."

Chuck put his head to the blankets.

"You see, I was as responsible for my problems as anyone else but it took me another year before I finally saw that."

"What woke you up?"

"I went to jail," Lewis admitted and the shock temporarily turned Chuck's face an even paler white. "I really hope you figure things out before it gets to that point."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair found Bart in the maternity ward. He was staring at the row of infants in the nursery, a half dozen bundles to chose from but his eyes were focused on only one. Blair understood why. The little boy already had dark hair and eyes to match Bart's son. "Where is Lewis?" Blair asked as she put a hand on the older man's arm.

Bart turned almost in surprise, smiled the smallest smile when he saw who it was. "Charles asked her to get something from the house." He checked his watch. That was over an hour ago now.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Bart didn't answer but turned back to the window instead. "Did you know I was the first one to hold Charles? It was an emergency Cesearean," Bart waved his hand once and tried to put his thoughts in order. "Misty was preeclamsic and about two weeks before Charles was due she had a hemorrhage. It was really bad," Bart admitted. "They had to give her general aesthetic and she was unconscious for hours after the birth." Blair rubbed at the wool of Bart's suit jacket, comforted him as best she could. "They say kids never cry in the first few days but Chuck was screaming in my arms by the time she finally woke up." Bart shook his head at the memory. "I don't know what possessed her to leave him to me. I never could get things right..." Blair couldn't reassure the man. His conclusion was entirely correct. "But you have," Bart admitted as he pushed off the wall, left the memories where they belonged. "What do you want Blair?"

"To see him."

Bart nodded his head. "Go home and get some sleep. I'll sneak you past his green-eyed guard in the morning."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had been transferred to a private room by the following morning. It had a bouquet of flowers on the side table, a dangling television that remained off and a view of the city. He wasn't going to be there much longer, would have been discharged already but Bart had made sure the paperwork and final tests went extraordinarily slow. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with his son once they were done. When Bart entered the room to find his son reading peacefully some of those fears dissipated. The IV had been disconnected and Chuck had his knees pulled to his chest. He'd managed a shower in the interim, washed with enough scented soap to rid his skin of the last evidence of his consumption. His hair was still damp, droplets dangling from the ends and forming a wet circle on the pillow behind. When Chuck looked up to see his father the red crawled again. His eyes went down in embarrassment but he did not hide away.

"Are you alright?" His father asked first.

"I think so."

Bart sat on the neighbouring chair. The seat matched the room's decor, green and white stripes to match the art deco print on one corner. Bart sat right back into it, undid the two buttons of his suit jacket and kicked one black leather shoe over the other.

"I'm so sorry. For everything I did to you. I didn't know."

"I forgave you all that stuff years ago," Bart promised.

"Why didn't you just tell me right away?"

"I didn't want you to hate her."

"I never could," Chuck admitted.

"Me neither."

"Mom was wrong wasn't she," Chuck asked. "You would have forgiven her."

"I had already forgiven her," Bart promised. "I was just angry. She should have waited. We could have figured things out. Everything could have turned out alright."

"Who was it?"

That made Bart shift uncomfortably, pressed his feet back into the floor and arch his back. "Does that really matter?"

"No, but I'd still like to know." Chuck kind of needed to. His subconscious was already drafting a list of possible candidates.

"It was a teacher."

"One of my teachers?" Chuck asked in dread.

"No, no one at St. Albans, or St Judes either." Bart took a deep breath and decided honesty was the way to go. "Do you remember when you started the fifth grade? How your mother started to work at Bass part-time."

"She managed the charity work."

"One of the things that we'd always wanted to do was fix up our old high school in Brooklyn. He was the vice-principal there." Thereby guaranteeing that Bart would never again feel fond affection for that slice of history. "He was just like me," Bart admitted. "Same height, coloring, mannerisms even. He was the same in lots of ways, except he had a regular nine to five job."

"I just don't understand..."

"I don't either," Bart promised. "But not a lot of stuff your mom did at the time made sense. I like to think of it that way."

"I just.."

"I know." Bart crossed his leg again, dangling foot bouncing a little more freely than it had before. He waited a bit and then asked what he'd wanted to since the start. "I want you to go back to rehab," Bart said it gently. "To stay the entire program. Could you do that for me?"

A year ago Chuck would have assumed that it had more to do with the publicity. Chuck might have been locked in a hospital room but he wasn't ignorant. He knew what was being said. A year ago Chuck would have guessed the request had more to do with reputation but that was a year ago. Now he understood just how much his father loved, and cared, and worried for him. So he agreed with a shake of his head.

The knock at the door disturbed them both. Bart had expected it and when the brunette curls appeared they made the father smile. Blair had gone home, had showered and changed from Chuck's jacket to a summer print dress. The purple and green pattern drifted just below the knee, floated above a set of white spring sandals. Bart took his leave happily. Chuck had only one question before his father left. "I hope you didn't let him get away with it."

"I might have bought his apartment building and turned it into a four-storey parking lot." Bart admitted with a smirk, closed the door on the way out.

Blair didn't sit. She tossed her clutch to the side table and stood dominantly at the foot of Chuck's bed. She ran an eye up and down each of his shoulders and studied his ashen face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"You're really okay?" Blair asked again. "No lingering pains."

"I'm just fine," Chuck assured her. The moment he did Blair jumped onto the bed and slapped him as hard as she could. Chuck had his hands around her wrists before she could try for a backhand. They wrestled for a moment, Blair pushing her knees into the bed to try to pull her hands back. She wasn't successful. Blair fell beside him with a hiss of frustration but he wouldn't let go of her wrists. He held fast until they their breathing slowed and they fell into an awkward sort of calm. They didn't look at each other but studied the opposite wall. They were too tired to fight anything anymore.

"Can I have my hands back?" Blair asked after a few minutes passed and he still hadn't relinquished them.

"Are you going to hit me again?"

"Did you think that losing one important person this year wasn't enough?"

That made Chuck drop her hands to the bedsheets. He turned his cheek to offer her better access, shut his eyes hard in anticipation of the slap. He deserved it.

"I'm not going to hurt you Chuck." Blair promised. He glanced once quickly, turned his head back away on instinct. He didn't quite trust her. When he'd closed his eyes again and no smack came, then he turned his face back to hers, slower this time. His shoulders were slumped in comparison to her sharp posture, and his head was still half to one side but he wasn't hiding. His eyes met hers, hung there as they always did.

"Why did you drink that much."

"I don't know," Chuck tried but Blair's arched brow cut right through his evasion. "I just wanted to calm down and drinking always helps me to calm down."

"Did it work?" Blair couldn't help the sarcasm.

"It wasn't the same," Chuck admitted. "It didn't work at all, so I just kept drinking more hoping that would change."

"Did you ever think that it wasn't the same because you're not the same?"

"Neither are you," Chuck admitted. He'd finally recognized it last night, when Blair hadn't backed away from his challenge. "How could you do that last night?" Chuck asked after a time. It wasn't accusatory or even harshly said. It was a genuine question. "Weren't you scared?"

"I was positively terrified," Blair admitted. "Shaking in my heels, bile in my throat, sweat in my hair kind of scared. But I did it anyway." Chuck met her eyes at that, a slow stare that held every emotion he didn't try to mask. The force made Blair bit her lip.

"I know why you did it Chuck," Blair pulled the envelope from her clutch; names Chuck and Bart still scrawled across the front. She offered it to Chuck but he wouldn't take it. Then she took the other item. It was a slim platinum lighter with the 3D relief of a naked woman on the side. They were both his. "The past can set a precedent but precedent is not equal to fruition." Blair said firmly. Chuck had to understand her point. Despite every feeling the past evoked, it was still the past. It couldn't alter what had been done or set a course for the future unless Chuck allowed it to.

Chuck took them both from her hand but they just lingered in his. "I can't do it."

"Tell me it means something," Blair said. "That is someone changed everything."

It hadn't. When it came right down to it it was nothing more than a sentiment and a few perfectly crafted letters. So Chuck lit one corner it aflame and watched it burn away to nothing in his hand. The ash coated his hands in grey. He rubbed awkwardly at them but it only spread the memory further.

"I could have helped you," Blair promised. It made Chuck grab her hand, ash rubbing from his skin to hers as he held tight. "You don't have to face everything alone."

"I'm just used to being alone," Chuck admitted and faltered. She could see his tears form, watched how hard he worked to defeat them and regain control.

"It doesn't scare me Chuck."

"You don't understand," Chuck said but it wasn't with the forcefulness of the evening prior. It was a whisper that Blair knew he no longer believed himself.

"But I do," Blair disagreed. "There is nothing you have thought that I could not understand. No urge you've fallen into that hasn't tripped me up as well. The facts and methods might be different but we're the same."

"But you're doing so well. You are so strong." Chuck swore. In comparison to him Blair was a goddess. "Have you even, you know?"

"Just once since we talked about it."

"You truly are amazing Blair." Chuck decided with a slow shake of his head. "But how?"

"I stopped trying to do it on my own." Blair explained. "That was the key. Every time I tried to rely only on my own strength I failed. I would do well for a time but eventually everything built up to the point that I lost. So I had to learn to let everyone else help me through the worst."

Chuck's head dropped a little further at that. He loosened his grip on her hand but only enough to turn it, to trace her palm in contemplation.

"My father has been my strength and Serena has been wonderful. Even Nate," She had to admit even though it made Chuck wince "and Eric. Everyone has been there for me."

"Everyone but me."

She could have reminded him that he had his own role. That prior to this year he'd supported her through so much. It wasn't the truth he needed to hear. "If you won't even let me help _you_ then how could you help _me?" _

"Do you hate me?" He had to ask.

"At certain times I've been convinced of it. At others I wished I could. There are parts of you that I will never like but I don't hate you Chuck," Blair promised. "I couldn't as long as I love you."

Blair waited for his face to change with the admission, gathered her strength in anticipation of the worst. At least he was to weak to run to the bathroom and lock himself away like the first time. In the end, his face didn't change at all, his jaw didn't clench but softened instead. He kept her tiny hand in his, had to ask a question before he intertwined their fingers again. "Nate?"

"Done. Vanessa?"

"Lies," Chuck admitted as he rubbed his thumb to each of her manicured nails. "All lies. You're the only one I've ever truly wanted."

Perhaps it wasn't the best choice of words but Blair understood. He wasn't talking about desire. Chuck desired every girl he met, from the entire freshman class to the middle-aged barista on 5th. It was the kind of want that started with a slip of skin and dissolved to nothing the moment he got off. He felt for Blair an entirely different kind of want.

"My whole life," Chuck finally acknowledged aloud what he'd known in bits and pieces all along.

"Then how could you give me away so easily?"

"It wasn't easy." Chuck squeezed his eyes at how hard it truly had been.

"Why did you run away instead of staying to fight? How could you turn me over to Dan of _all people?"_

Chuck eyes reopened, contemplation crossing his face before disappearing again. "Because you looked so happy."

"I did?" Blair asked in disbelief.

"That picture on Gossip Girl, on the swings. You looked so blissfully carefree. I've always just wanted you to be happy."

"Nate?"

"I just _need_ for you to be happy."

Blair's smiled broke through, understanding finally dawning fully. Blair couldn't blame Chuck for doubting his ability to make her happy. The only thing he'd shown her through the last six months was just how miserable he could make her. If she hadn't suspected he was a tiny bit more miserable through it all, if he hadn't spent the preceding twelve years proving he could give exactly the opposite, then Blair would have doubted right with him. As much as she had been there for him, he had done the same for her. She wasn't ignorant. She knew who had written their anniversaries into Nate's planner every single year, who had bought her the best birthday gifts and then exchanged them with the dubious blonde at the last minute (who really believed that Chuck would buy a black cardigan or a gift certificate to Starbucks?). Chuck was the one who always made sure she had the best seats, and the best service, the best school schedule and best chance of evading detention for her entire life. It wasn't even those superficial things though. Who'd been waiting with flowers when her father left? (coupled with a very creatively worded sympathy card). Who'd taken her shopping when Serena disappeared and then watched Breakfast at Tiffany's and pretended to cry (she'd always suspected he really was crying). Who'd listened to her problems, schemed the destruction of their entire junior class, helped her climb to the pinnacle in replacement of a blonde, and artfully manoeuvred his clueless best friend into something closer to the boyfriend she wanted.

Who'd been her _other_ best friend all along?

Blair wanted to explain that to him but a nurse interrupted the two. She had a doctor in tow, a list of tests that they still needed to complete. Blair took her purse back in muted frustration, put her feet to the floor and pulled her hand from Chuck's. She left him with a single thought. "Don't you remember who was the first boy to push me on the swings?"

_Chuck had been six years old. It was the fourth week of Kindergarten but his first day. Vacation in Monaco with his parents superseded the real first day of school. At least this way, when his mother bawled even louder than shy Is, only the nannies were left to see it._

_He remembered feeling hesitant, eyeing the playground for a familiar mop of blonde curls, stepping between the already forming cliques of other students. He was looking for Nate, his neighbour and best friend since birth or shortly thereafter. Nathaniel, clad in a sailor hat and bright blue breeches was knee deep in the sandbox, dirt to his elbows and sparkly-eyed blonde girl playing beside him. They had constructed a lopsided castle, complete with decorative rocks and twigs. Chuck lifted one tiny eyebrow at the dirt, which had spread from Nate's knees to his arms, even dusted through the boy's too long bangs. Chuck though the better of that but still hurried over._

_"Nathaniel," Chuck's six-year old voice stumbled over the full syllables. _

_Nate didn't bother with a greeting. He jumped to his feet instead, enveloped his friend in a hug that Chuck promptly pushed away from. He brushed at his tan pants, little nose scrunching in disgust at the lines of sand that now marred the perfect presentation. "Play with me and Serena," Nate asked as he dropped back down._

_"Serena and I," Chuck said automatically. His father always insisted on proper grammar. Chuck gave one last look at the mile of dirt and decided against it. "Let's go swing," Chuck said with a pull at his friend's sweater. Chuck liked the swings. He liked to kick his feet as high as they could go. The best part was the drag at the top, when you'd pushed just beyond the pull of gravity and for a split second it was like you were flying. At least until the chain snapped you back again. Chuck didn't wait for his friend to answer, he just started for the swings, assured that the blonde would follow in time. He did. Serena jumping with him to complete the threesome._

_There were only two swings at St. Albans Primary School. The first was occupied by little Georgina Sparks. Bart had sponsored her father's most recent showing. Chuck knew that getting anything from the daughter would only happen after a spirited pushing match and Bart had made him promise that he wouldn't fight at school. Besides the brunette seemed like an easier target. She was just sitting on the swing, yellow and white fall dress folded perfectly beneath her legs, matching headband sitting prettily at the top of her brown curls. They fell forward as she studied the ground, her tiny white sandals that pressed only the tiniest distance back and forth._

_"Are you done?" Chuck stood directly in front to ask. When the brunette didn't bother to answer him, Chuck crossed his tiny arms and raised his voice. "Are you done yet?"_

_It made Nate and Serena rush faster from behind. "She's never done," Serena explained. "She sits there every recess."_

_"She never swings," Nate explained further._

_"Are you scared or something?" Chuck asked._

_That made the girl's face turn as dark as her brunette curls. She stared up at the older boy. "I'm Blair Waldorf. Waldorf's aren't scared of anything."_

_Her little rant didn't unnerve Chuck, it just made him narrow his brown eyes to match hers, fold his arms tighter across the yellow vest that his mother had made him wear. "So swing or get off." Blair put a hand to her headband, didn't even acknowledge the request. That made Chuck angrier. "Get off!" He yelled in his tiny voice. A few other students gathered around. They'd been subjected to Blair's moodiness since day one. They were waiting for her to be taken down a peg._

_"No!" Blair yelled right back._

_Their eyes met in a stalemate, two brown corners unwilling to give an inch to the other._

_Then Chuck stomped to the back of the set. He walked several feet away then ran back as fast as he could. He pushed Blair with all his strength, ran underneath her as the leather swung upward, terrified Blair grabbing the metal linked chain with white knuckles. Her scream of absolute panic brought the school staff running._

_Chuck managed to push her three more times before the teacher grabbed him by the arm. He pushed despite the tears in Blair's eyes and her screams of protest. Mrs. Ashmore pulled Chuck right to the ground, made him sit cross-legged on the grass. "We're going to have to call your mother," The teacher barked._

_Chuck was hardly paying attention. His eyes were on the brunette and the transformation that had taken place with the fourth downward motion. There were still tears in her eyes but now they formed a cornerstone to a blissful smile. It appeared and disappeared behind her flying curls,her headband having fallen with the first push. Blair's screaming had been replaced by laughter and the sound made Chuck smile smugly. "You should call dad" Chuck suggested to the teacher as his smile spread. "Mom will cry."_

That's when Chuck remembered; He'd been pushing Blair miles past her comfort zone all along.

Blair took only three steps before she remembered something she had almost forgotten. She was never the coward. She could be overwhelmed, was dreadfully unhealthy at times but Blair Waldorf was never a coward. And acting that way? Dan was right! Being weak never suited her. So she turned, "Chuck" leaving her lips before she met his eyes. It met a "Blair," somewhere in the middle of the room. Then it wasn't cowardice that rendered her speechless. It was the black journal Chuck had in his hand, that he held out to her.

"Take it," Chuck said as he stretched his hand further, let the thick leather dangle from the ends of his fingertips. "I'm not sure that I can put these things to words," He admitted. "But you can have _all_ of my thoughts."

She wanted to ask him if he was sure but she knew it might change his mind. His hands were already shaking and she was certain she'd never seen him as vulnerable as in that moment. It was played out in the rounding of his eyes, the curve of his collarbone and the softness of his lips. It made him even more beautiful to her eyes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck dropped his duffel bag by the admissions desk to Clayton House, a couple familiar faces waving him hello. It was different from the last time, sunlight rather that darkness drifted through the glass windows. The director had promised there would be no long intake, just a couple questions to update their file. Chuck tapped his foot absently as he waited for the girl ahead of him to finish. She was tall and skinny, tight black jeans clinging to what could have passed for curves, long white cardigan hanging over the best of them. He gave her a quick once over but only after he heard the name. "Your doctor was very clear," The clerk turned a page and showed it to the younger girl. "Megan Alright's treatment with Demerol is to be discontinued."

"Maybe you could call him?"

"Darling, you came here to get _off_ painkillers," The nurse snapped a little more firmly. "Now move along."

Chuck had to laugh. Sebastian had been wrong on both attempts. His chuckle made the girl turn to him as she turned away. Chuck couldn't help the smirk from forming as she studied him. "I haven't met you before have I?" Megan asked with confusion.

"Never," Chuck admitted as his smirk grew.

Megan wrinkled her brow one more time before her expression changed to a far less open one. "You've roomed with Sebe haven't you?"

"I did."

"I don't do that anymore you know," She said as she folded her arms.

"That's okay," Chuck explained. "I don't either."

That made Megan's frown turn backward, kept her from wincing away when Chuck casually put an arm around her shoulders. "Sebastian also told me that you love calligraphy."

"That's true."

"Think you could do something for me?" Chuck asked. "I remunerate well."

"Perhaps." Megan smiled a little wider at the idea.

"Good," Chuck smiled wider as he dropped his arm back to his side. "Now where is Sebastian?" He asked as he folded his hands together, bounced once on his heels. Sebe was the only good thing about being back here.

The way Megan looked immediately to the side made Chuck's stomach drop.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The flowers were still on the side table when Nate arrived there. The television had been left on, afternoon news blaring into the empty private room. It hadn't even been cleaned yet, Chuck's blankets were sitting in a rumpled pile in the middle. Nate was still too late. He dropped the album he'd brought to the side table and considered. Maybe he'd been too late all along.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck knew from the absence of the acoustic guitar in one corner. The posters were off the wall, only a few items of clothing hung perfectly straight in the open closet. Nothing was the same. A large part of Chuck hoped that his former roommate had finally gotten better but Megan's look didn't exactly push to that conclusion. Sebastian's absence lodged a different conclusion in Chuck's psyche. It reminded him that this way no game, that no matter how indestructible one felt, no matter how many times you cheated death or luck fell to you side, eventually the pendulum swung back your way. Eventually it ripped you right out.

Chuck sat on Sebastian's bed though he supposed it wasn't that boy's bed anymore. He crossed his feet underneath the blankets, put a hand to each knee and just waited. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for until the nurse poked her head inside. It was Deborah, the fat nurse with far too much attitude. She didn't say anything, just leaned her ample frame against the door frame, waited along with her younger patient. "How did he die?" Chuck asked at last.

"Heroin overdose."

"Why?"

"His parents sent him to boarding school in Alaska." The nurse offered up with a wry smile.

"That's not what I meant. Why was he here? _Really_?"

The way the nurse looked, he could tell she was contemplating, considering what to say. He knew she'd tell him. There wasn't much use for secrets, not when the source was dead and buried. "It was abuse," She admitted. "His nanny, really bad stuff that went on for years before his parents realized." Chuck swallowed hard at the truth. "Those type of kids, they can be hard to reach." Chuck understood that. He'd known one of them.

Deborah left as simply as she had entered and Chuck pulled his feet tighter beneath him. He again contemplated his future until he found the number zero. Chuck knew he either had to chose to get better, to face everything that was holding him back, to finally dismiss all his demons or he had to chose to join Sebastian. It wasn't much of a choice. Chuck didn't want to give up on life.

But he knew he had zero chances left. There were zero places that he hadn't run to, zero people that he hadn't already hurt and zero excuses that he hadn't already abused. He had zero opportunities left to fuck up.

And only one more chance to get everything right.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Ready to go sonic speed (essentially skip) through the next 17 days? Until C gets a very special visitor at CH? I have no desire to revisit his counseling the second time through. Are you mad that I killed off Sebe? I hope you got the whole imagery. Remember that Sebastian was a foil (old Chuck). Well now old Chuck is dead ;)_

_BrittyKay – Nate, Nate, Nate. Let's see if he's grown up from this situation shall we._

_Bluestriker – thanks :)_

_Annablake – It looks like you're going to get more than one extra chapter. The fluffy plot bunnies are multiplying :) There will be more Dan-Chuck interaction. After all, Chuck definitely owes him for saving his life. How is he going to repay him? You'll have to wait to see._

_Cb4e – thanks :) It's looking like 2-3 more chapters (not posts, but actual chapters)._

_Flipped – Don't worry, it's all __good__ life-altering choices from now. :)_

_Shannon – yeah, Nate is a jerk at this point. I think all of my characters (aside from Eric) have had their moments that you just wanted to kill them except maybe Blair too though she did give out some of her own cruelty. But I know a lot of ppl spent a long time hating Serena through YCFYF and I have my own love-hate relationship with the Chuck of my fiction. I don't regret doing DB because I think he helped to start her on the course of growing up but it just fell flatter than I thought it would._

_Supernovelty – Yeah, Blair meeting Chuck's drinking challenge was a mirror of how her friends hadn't stopped her from puking after Chuck called her when he was suicidal. As per this chapter that time was the last time B slipped up just like that was the last time Chuck will. There's just something intriguing in having two characters with such destructive capacities together. It'll either turn into a disaster like YCFYF eventually did or once everything is put in the open it could be a chance to truly help one another because they both truly know what it's like to be self-destructive (like I'm hoping here)_

_Blair S – Ah yes, Chuckie waking up at Charles. Is there really much of "Chuck Bass" left though?_

_Lady-Rubens – Yeah! Another reader :) Yeah Bart is the worst parent EVER. I hope he and Lewis work things out just so that she can take the parenting role over :)_

_Deziray – I understand your comments but I just can't agree. I think Blair matured the most of everyone. She went from being a girl who needed all the external things to demonstrate her worth. She needed to have a whole group of minions to validate herself, needed this whole bitchy persona to basically hide the fact that she was a weak bulimic who thought poorly of herself. That's why in YCFYF she basically followed C until she nearly killed herself. Here she set boundaries with him, walked away when he turned on her (remember when she handed the flask back to him or left him to Vanessa even though she knew he wasn't really telling the truth). But she still was there for him the whole way through as the friends they'd always been. She's actually the polar opposite of Chuck when it came to their mother's deaths. I even spell this out in the next chapter. But basically Chuck was a pretty good (albeit a bit anti-social and prone to being a bit of a jerk) kid who let everything fall apart when his mother died. Whereas Blair did the opposite when her mother died. She used it as an opportunity to grow up, and thanks to her father's love and guidance, it became the moment where everything came together for her._

_Ingridmarie – Yeah, his friends really did pull out all the stops in the last. I'm sure C will reward them for it finally._

_Up Next – Don't you want to know why Chuck wanted that calligraphy? One person is visiting C every day but another gets the most important visit of all. And I suppose a couple other of our story lines need to work towards their bows and ribbons :)_


	59. Chapter Twenty Four Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Part One**

_May 25, 2009_

_Sometimes love comes like a thief in the night but sometimes love endures like a soldier in the trenches. Sometimes it's not a explosion of understanding, or a passionate frenzy. Sometimes love remains love just because it can endure the battle of attrition, every attempt at murder that falls short. Sometimes we fight, and cry, and fight some more. Sometimes we fight until everyone around us falls, until the morning sun finally rises over the final ceasefire and we're forced to realize that we're still here, that love is still here. No matter how hard we tried to kill it, to ignore it, to pretend it away it is stronger than everything else. Sometimes that's the kind of love we need to have because it's the type that will never be lost. When the lines of battle are rubbed out and life begins again, we know that it's the kind of love that will really last. The butterflies, the bubbly laughter and overenthusiastic displays, they never really last the years. _

_Chuck isn't the sort of person who loves on a whim. He's the type of man who loves deeply, from the very core of his soul. That's why I knew, if he could break the cycle of defeatism then he would be committed for life, he'd lay his very life down, do whatever it took to guarantee that that ceasefire would become a lasting peace. And the truth was that it could only be Blair that could reach him. Not only because they'd loved one another all along, not due to the friendship or the crisscrossing history. It had to be Blair because only she had the fortitude to press forward. To throw hope in the air when all was lost, withdraw only to recuperate, strong enough to advance again. Only she was enough of a bitch to get the better of him, and enough of a sweetheart to know what to do with it once she had._

_Eric Van der Woodsen_

Eric was lying on the bed in Damien's apartment when the text came. They'd packed his boyfriend's entire apartment, everything from prints to textiles packed between plastic and plaster. Half was to be given away, the rest boxed for travel abroad. Eric had given one last walk through the small space and then collapsed on the bed along with his boyfriend, arms weary and feet tired. Damien had pulled an arm beside him, traced a patchwork pattern to match the band he wore on his.

There was a delightful irony in seeing the rooms disassembled again. It might not have been the same apartment but it was still a throwback to Christmas Day the year prior in everything but the feeling accompanying it. When Damien had been prepared to flee, despite everything he had done, Eric had still felt panic. Now it was something entirely different. Now it was the anticipation of a new chapter of his life. Damien was staying at the Van der Woodsen penthouse until the fall, then it would be their turn to disassemble Eric's life to create a new one. It ought to have been frightening but it wasn't. There was liberation in new beginnings, particularly when you knew you could bring the best parts of the former end with you.

Eric wasn't sure on all counts until the text came. Once he read the words he knew he wasn't leaving anything important behind.

**Eric,**

**I want to apologize for what I said to you. I don't care about the legalities. You will always be not only my brother but my closest friend. You have supported me the entire way, been the one who pushed me the furthest when needed and held me back the strongest when necessary. If I never told you how thankful I am for that then let me do so now. I have appreciated everything you have done for me and always will.**

**Chuck**

Eric stared at the message for a long time before he crafted his answer, tiny smirk building larger before he hit send.

**C.**

**Are you really trying to get back together over a text?**

**E.**

His phone rang on cue.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate was amazed that Dorota waved him up the stairs without question. It was evidence that things were too hectic in the Waldorf home to pay attention to details. They had a wedding and a fashion show to pull together, a prom and a commencement to look forward to. Perhaps it didn't leave time to contemplate all the other changes that had taken place. Nate wasn't about to correct the oversight. If he did he'd likely be shown the door and Nate needed to talk to Blair. So he climbed the stairs two at a time, reached the landing as quickly as he could. He knocked on Blair's door but got no answer. He poked his head inside, didn't hear the shower in the far bathroom until he'd stepped inside.

Then politeness ought to have forced him downstairs again. It likely would have except he caught something in his quick survey of the room. Something that intrigued him. Lying on Blair's side table was a familiar black journal. Nate knew it was Chuck's before he walked over to it; tiny personalized engraving in one corner just a confirmation. Eric had commissioned it before gifting it to his brother last winter. To say Nate was surprised would be an underestimation, the fact that he was happy about it was a pleasant surprise. He listened for the shower again, heard the water running full so he flipped the cover open, turned the blank white sheets until he found the first filled with tiny print.

_December 30, 2008_

_I keep going through it in my head, trying to figure out the exact moment that Georgina got the better of me. I keep trying to figure out an exit strategy a month too late, keep wondering how I could have acted differently, how I could have schemed or plotted, who I could have bought or what I could have sold. It's a lot easier to focus on that then remember the result of her victory, to remember what I had lost but it's in what I lost that I find this beginning. I never wanted to lose Blair. I could have lost my dignity, even my sanity but not hers. I could have schemed, plotted, bought or sold but none of that would have kept enough to keep her. Georgina might have been the puppeteer but I was the one with the strings to pull._

_The strange thing is that I crafted myself to hide the strings. My persona was woven to protect the parts I didn't want anyone to see. It grew with the need but it was never meant to overtake me. I always thought that when the time came, when I found the point of okay, then I would shed my character like an extra skin. I was wrong. Somewhere in the years it had become my only skin and I lost myself instead. And it never did cover those strings, just set them tighter. If Georgina hadn't pulled them then I eventually would have tripped on them myself. If I couldn't keep it together for Blair then I might as well admit that I never had things together at all. I would have done anything to keep her. I wouldn't have just lied or cheated, if I could I would have told the truth. I would still do anything for her._

_Even pull myself apart. Dr. Sherman calls it other things; words like emotional barriers or coping mechanisms or unresolved trauma. I suggested he just call me what I am, fucked up. He didn't approve of the vocabulary. Then he told me to be careful of the artificial high, the kind of enthusiasm that drives the beginning of a journey and tapers out within a week. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't feel the high. I'm not ecstatic. I'm fucking scared! _

_Who knows what I'll find when I scour below the surface. I don't know what's left, what's even salvageable. I don't know if it will even make a difference. Blair might not want me when I'm done, but at least if she does, I might have something worth offering._

_Charles Bartholomew Bass_

"What are you doing?" The sharp voice snapped him to attention before the manicured nails snapped the journal shut. Blair stared up at him, hair still wet and body engulfed in a thick, white cotton robe. Nate looked away in guilt first, stared closer when he looked back. It wasn't with the same fascination of a week prior. A part of him wished it could have been, because looking now and seeing nothing humbled him further than even Vanessa's sharp words. It meant recognizing what his fascination had been bred of.

Blair was so beautiful, even more so with hair that dripped into cloth, and cheeks that had been scrubbed to a flawless pink. She was stunning from the narrow calves that peeked between the folds of her robe to the small hands that clutched closer at the tie, to the collarbones she had already covered. There was no denying her appeal, from the physical to the intangible. There was no denying that Nathaniel had a weakness for the pretty in every form: from the tall to the short, brunette to the blonde, blue eyed to the brown. He had a fascination that could equal his best friends though they differed in basis. Chuck's interest was carnal but Nate's was closer to romantic. He loved the surge of butterflies, the innocence of love before disagreement cracked it or boredom set in. He loved the act of falling in love too much to stay in it.

Except that's not what he felt in this moment. There wasn't the lingering regrets he'd felt with Vanessa, just a kind of muted nothingness, the feeling he'd always associated with Blair first. He'd loved her once, with the kind of innocence of a young child. He'd been stunned to watch it crack to nothing as they grew into two teenagers, had felt almost physically hurt to find his attention distracted elsewhere, to find out how easily his mind had lingered on everyone else. So he layered the guilt to make things stick. It hadn't worked. They'd still fallen apart and it hadn't bothered him. He'd felt free.

Until she'd fallen into the snare of his best friend. Then it had hurt, then it had lingered, then he had wanted her back. He'd worked through that too, dismissed the feelings for what they were, lost them entirely when he did fall in love. But the suggestion had lingered, the idea that she was destined to be his, or perhaps just destined to _not _belong to his best friend. He'd felt the strangest justification when he'd fallen for her again, like it proved the years they'd spent together hadn't been based on a lie. He'd surged forward happily, never questioned why his feelings only intensified once evidence of Chuck's became more obvious. He ought to have examined everything further.

Because staring at her now he knew. He wasn't hurt for losing her, he ached for losing her to Chuck. It had never been about Blair, just some lingering competitiveness that had dragged out the worst parts of himself. Realizing that. It was more than humbling.

"Why are you here?" Blair snapped again as he stayed quiet.

"I came to apologize," Nate admitted even though he'd probably screwed all chances of that by being found snooping.

Blair crossed her arms.

"I cancelled my admissions to Yale and Dartmouth," Nate explained. "I'm going to UCLA in the fall."

"That's probably a good thing."

"I got so wrapped up in what I thought I wanted, that I forgot to remember what it was that I truly did want and I'm sorry for that Blair." Nate promised.

Blair wanted to accept his apology but she just couldn't. "I think you need to leave," She said instead. He didn't fight her like he had before. He just bowed his head and accepted her words. She glared at the door for a long after he had closed it. She glared until the anger at the pit of her belly subsided. She tried to remember that he had been a good friend to her, but she couldn't see past how bad a friend he'd been to Chuck.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart knew a lot from the files Chuck had relinquished to him. Chuck had passed all his paperwork of his venture with his uncle, every report, financial statement, proposal and final document. Chuck had asked his father to take care of things, to give him an option out because he truly wasn't ready. He just wanted to be a high school student, a university student when the time came. He didn't want to be anything more until he was a little bit older and hell of a lot wiser. Bart still learned a lot from those files. The first was about his son. That no matter what he wanted now, when Chuck was ready to take over Bass, he was going to exceed all expectations. The second was about the former Vice President. Jack McFayden was as brilliant as he'd always been, probably more so. He'd remained as creative as Bart remembered, gaining in the interim the hunger he'd been lacking eight years ago. That's why when Bart knocked on his former best friend's door he brought not one offer but two.

Kaitlyn McFayden answered the door, beautiful face turning immediately sour in reception, arms crossed before she even spoke. "Good evening Bart," She offered. "What are you doing here?"

"I have business with your husband." Bart said firm enough for her to step back.

"How's your son?" She threw out as he stepped inside. His shoulders were tense before she even offered the rest. "Have you killed him yet?"

"You sister was the one who had the affair," Bart offered up as he pushed past. He'd been certain that admitting Misty's infidelity could never feel good. He was wrong. Being able to throw the fact at his sister-in-law. That was a little slice of heaven. Kaitlyn sputtered as he walked past but her husband smiled at the long overdue admission. He'd known all along.

"You have some paperwork for me?" Jack asked as Bart passed into the study.

"I do," Bart took them from his briefcase, passed them to the other man.

"These are sale papers."

"Charles wrote the offer," Bart assured the other man. "He wishes for Bass to buy out your small endeavour."

"And what if I don't want to sell?" Jack said as he laid the papers on his desk, crossed his arms.

"Got a taste for the life again?" Bart arched his brow. His brother-in-law didn't admit that he had. He didn't need to. Bart was sure of the fact. That's why he'd drafted the other package before he left. His own package. "I think I might be able to counter Chuck's offer with a better one," He promised as he laid it on top of the other.

Jack arched his own brow once he read the first paragraph. It was clear from that alone. "You want me to come back to Bass?"

"Think you could handle your wife?" Bart asked.

"The guilt alone will manage her for years," Jack promised as he flipped to the first page, let his eyes scour down the terms and conditions of his proposed reappointment as Vice President.

"So?" Bart stared at his former best friend. Perhaps it was a long shot but he couldn't help but think, that just maybe, he was going to get nearly everything back.

Jack smiled as he looked up, put his hand out first. Bart shook it enthusiastically, clapped a hand to the other side and somewhere in the middle they both started laughing. Jack's only died a moment, over another consideration. "The board?"

"Will get off on the suggestion alone."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It'd started out with necessity. Blair had information that needed to be conveyed to Chuck, and having breakfast with Bart seemed the most logical route to accomplish her task. Chuck Bass, defying every sense of reason and probability had been selected as the valedictorian of St. Judes. It wasn't due to any well masked adoration for the trouble maker. It'd happened for far different reasons. Only ten members of his class had voted from genuine affection, another ten had simply voted _against _Humphrey but the other thirty had voted because they gave more weight to TMZ than genuine fact. They truly believed that Chuck _had_ died and wanted to see what Queller would do. Bart had quirked one brow when she informed him and then suggested she try the smoked salmon omelet. She'd taken a partial serving.

After that they'd fallen into routine. Harold and Roman were preoccupied with the wedding. Bart pushed his first meeting forward and his second later. It enabled him to have breakfast with Blair every morning. He got a closer look at the girl he'd always believed would be one day be his daughter and she got daily assurances that the son was doing fine. She never fully believed the father's words. Despite the artistic apologies Chuck sent every morning. Chuck apologized sin by sin, each one crafted into card stock and set by black ink, some taking a few lines and others a full page. He apologized for slights she hadn't noticed, lingered on the mistakes she would probably never forget. He gave her sixteen reasons to believe in him. She probably still wouldn't have except she had his journal to match the events, she read and knew the sincerity behind every single word. She realized he'd felt every failure as deeply as her.

That's not to say that she used Chuck's journal as a reference. She didn't. She read it straight from cover to cover, absorbed every event in his past and every wish he held for future. She finally understood every action, felt the reactions with him. She soared to highs and drops to lows, got scared, was disgusted and humiliated along with him. There were pages where she hated Chuck with as much passion as he must have hated himself. They quickly dissolved to admiration with a new triumph, a rebirth of hope. She'd cried, screamed in frustration, laughed until she loved him a little more than she had before. She read not to take notes, or to form a strategy to help him, she just read to understand Chuck Bass on a deeper level than she ever had before, on a deeper level than anyone ever would.

She still didn't believe he was alright. Not until the seventeenth day, when she'd called on Bart only to be told that the father had left the morning before to fly to Seattle. She wasn't assured until the invitation arrived on that same day, calligraphy as elaborate as each apology had been. It'd been laid across her front table like the others, addition of a single red rose the only difference from the expected. When she pulled the silver embossed sheet from the envelope it made her smile.

_**Blair Cornelia Waldorf,**_

_**Your presence is requested at Clayton House on May 28th, 2009 at 7:00pm. Transportation to be provided.**_

_**Charles Bartholomew Bass**_

"Miss Waldorf," Chuck's driver stood beside the elevator. He held the other eleven roses in one hand and her spring jacket in the other. Blair didn't hesitate to take both.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The moment Chuck had been discharged, Lewis had taken a convenient and prolonged trip back to Stanford. She hid away until the panic passed, waited for an onslaught that never came. A man had only two ways into her heart, to chase relentlessly or to give freedom. The hurdles of the first had risen to new heights after Andrew, the road of the second had never been transversed. Bart broke the pattern, he didn't follow her like the other armies of admirers, the ones that drove her instinct to run faster and further away. He just waited patiently for her to come back on her own, knew she had to because her immigration hearing was in less than a fortnight, and paid the doorman in her building to inform him of the day. It was proof that if they could just work it out, then he might just be perfect for her.

The sun was high when she turned the key in her apartment again, when Bart landed back from his overnight trip. He went to the Wellington rather than home, knocked on Lewis' door before the woman had even unpacked. She picked up Aidan before he could explore his way through another of her facial creams. She had yet to replace the last. Lewis handed her son to Helga and walked to the door.

She noticed the flowers almost before him. They were hard to ignore, a explosion of colour competing with the sea of greenery that proved they'd been hand selected. Lewis arched a brow up at the older man, it crawled higher at the smugness that oozed from behind his eyes. She looked back down at the flowers. They truly were elaborate. There were bright orange lilies, purple eustoma, fire red orchids that finished with a wash of yellow peonies. They didn't interest her as much as the crawling green leaves. He must have know that too. Though if he did then he shouldn't have wasted his money. "What are they?" She teased even though she'd identified each variety in her mind.

It cut through a bit of Bart's smugness. He figured _pretty_ wasn't a better answer than _expensive_. "They're..."

"Perfect," Lewis said but not with the enthusiasm he might have expected. Her tone was far closer to neutral. "Helga!" She yelled next, eyes studying the empty hall until it was filled with her robust nanny. "How about these?" Lewis asked as she took the flowers from her suitor with a playful smile that bordered on roguish. "What are they again?" Lewis turned back, smile fully rogue now.

"Imported flowers," Bart repeated without the smug.

"I know you were looking for something special for your girlfriend," Lewis smiled wider as she turned to the nanny. "Why don't you take these," She pressed them into the other woman's hands, waved her off before she could refuse.

"I take it you don't like flowers," Bart said as he crossed his arms.

"It's not what I'm looking for," Lewis promised with that damn enticing smile again. It disappeared as she shut the door.

Bart came back a day later with a jewelry set; a stunning diamond and pearl drop necklace and matching earrings. He'd snapped the case as she opened the door, smile not as confident as the day before. Lewis had responded by yelling out "Helga" again.

Bart shut it again. "I get the point," He promised even though he wasn't quite sure.

"It's not what I'm looking for," Lewis explained again. That wasn't any clearer the second time.

"Is it the gifts that you don't want or is it _me_?"

"I'm pretty sure it's just the gifts," She promised as she shut the door again.

Bart stared at the lines of wood and contemplated. They wavered under his stare but he never did. He opened his wallet as he took the elevator down, bribed his way into an entirely different strategy. It was time for him to up the stakes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The receptionist yelled down at a couple boys down the hall, asked them to fetch Charles while Blair breathed in the atmosphere of the place. She understood why Chuck had loved it here. Despite where she was, who she was waiting for, she felt calm too. The receptionist handed her a pen, flipped the booklet to Charles' guest page. Blair traced her fingertip down the unbroken row of Bart Bass', at least one for each day, and then added her signature with a smile. The smile spread when she heard the scuffing of sneakers across the floor. Except Chuck Bass didn't wear sneakers. Then again, he also didn't run down a hallway the way he was now, hair flying freely with every step. He didn't stand in front of her, out of breath and out of anything but a genuine smile.

And that was before she actually looked at him. Once she studied his face, that's when she couldn't breath, not for a very long time. The sleeping icon, all innocence and natural beauty had transformed to life and Blair could do nothing but stare. When he stared back at his guest, a thin layer of red curled from his neck upward and completed the picture. If Blair had not already loved him than that moment would have sealed it. "Blair," Chuck whispered it first, then crushed her into his arms. He rumpled her Waldorf original beneath his strong arms, bound her fully close to him. He didn't kiss her, just buried his face happily into her hair and held on. It made her giggle, little spasms that ran down his stomach as much as hers. He laughed too, a kind of chuckle that deepened hers. He laughed until he was breathless and then whispered into her ear through a gasp. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Blair promised as she finally broke free. The funny thing was that she wasn't talking about the last seventeen days, or the last six months but some longer division. She cupped his chin, studied his natural smile and guessed it was something closer to years. It made her push his face once, to the side, playfully. It made him take her other hand and start her along the expansive hallway.

Chuck pulled her wordlessly, let her hand drop as they approached their destination. He lead her to a pair of double glass doors and pointed into the setting sun. The rays of light danced across green Victorian roofs, reflected off the rows of glass set into the modern cement. It decorated his favourite vantage of Yale. Blair turned with as much fascination as he had the first. It might have been more but only because her dream had started younger. She breathed in every inch while Chuck stepped back, breathed in every inch of her.

That was the moment Chuck knew Sebastian was wrong, you didn't need the total absence of hope, to reach some immeasurable bottom to climb upward. You needed the opposite, the promise of something greater, something or someone to hold onto and pull up towards. And Blair, surrounded by a halo of Connecticut sunshine was both that promise and that hope.

"This is a lovely place," Blair decided as she returned her eyes to the house itself. "Wonderful views, beautiful receptionists," She arched a brow, "light, airy, expansive," she continued with a look left and right. It's..."

"Perfect," Chuck supplied without a look left or right, with no confirmatory looks to the secretaries or the space. He already had his perfection and it had expertly formed chestnut curls and blood red lips.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan shifted in his chair while Serena changed again, crossed one of his legs over the other, smile never truly leaving his face. It was one of her final fittings and she'd dragged him along. It didn't bore. Watching his girlfriend transformed from reds to yellows and from pants to dresses was a promise of something great not just for her but Eleanor Waldorf designs.

Blair ought to have selected an established model to front the '_transitional'_ collection as Blair had come to call it. She called it that because it would be the last show of her mother's designs. There would be other pieces woven through, a platform for the next show because Blair had finally decided that there would be a next show. Blair could have picked a guaranteed performer to help the changeover but somewhere along the way, Blair had lost her natural urge to do the safe thing. It had become more natural to take a risk, especially this risk because it meant having her best friend along for the journey. Perhaps there was a irony in selecting Serena as the head model for Waldorf Designs but there was no more mother to battle for affection, just a best friend to launch to stardom.

"This is the finale dress," Serena explained as she stepped onto the pedestal. She studied it deeper than the rest with reason. It was the decision Blair had agonized over most. The reason? It wasn't one of her mother's designs. She'd still selected it in the end, not just because the coloring and fit suited Serena better than anything her mother had drawn, but because there was an edginess to it that signified where Blair wanted to go. It was as prim at the top as one of her mother's designs, thick strap of black velvet that met a bow that fell exactly center, and perfectly straight black pin-stripping set again a rich dark blue. The orderliness disappeared somewhere at the middle, when the pinstripes turned to irregularly curved lines, that turned to ruffles exploding somewhere above the knee and carrying to the ankle. It was the perfect balance between restraint and excess. The perfect dress to pull Blair into this new period of her life.

"It's stunning," Dan promised.

Serena turned her glance to the mirror once more, smoothed the front though it was already perfectly cut, tried to smooth her lingering fears with it. "So are you ready for this?" She asked, not that he had any role in this show. She was asking whether he was ready for this as her boyfriend. She hadn't forgotten what had pulled them apart the first time. How he couldn't handle her parading for a bar full of drunken men. How much more would he feel it when it was a room of hundreds?

"You mean your parading your assets for the entire world to see?"

"Yes," Serena admitted with an inhalation of breath.

"Watching you be valued only for your physical attributes."

_This was going worse than she thought._

"Do I get a front row seat?" Dan's feigned disgust was traded for a teasing smile. It made Serena hiss first and then laugh after. "As long as I get to admire you for everything else....after."

That made Serena step from the pedestal, lean down to kiss her boyfriend. He stopped her with a hand. "You're going to rumple the dress," He pointed out and she pulled back. "Why don't I meet you halfway instead," He suggested as he stood, kissed her hard on the mouth, kept his hands from the couture.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair shut the door quietly once Chuck had left, eyes flickering across his small room. He'd left her there with a smirk, a casual shuffle out. Blair hadn't minded the absence, she planned to use it to her advantage. Blair studied the room in detail. Chuck had been placed in the center's sole private room this time, a testament to something she was sure. Probably just the lurking photographers who updated TMZ every couple days.

The room was smaller than Blair's closet, tiny desk sitting in an alcove, bed angled awkwardly in the other corner. The first was piled up with books, the second with unmade blankets. Blair fluffed Chuck's pillow before she unzipped her bag. She pulled both journals, put his back inside. Blair ran a finger down the gold leafing of hers, then laid it on the pillow. After a longer look she pushed it underneath instead, pulled the sheets to cover.

"Are you making my bed?" Chuck asked in disbelief when he returned to see Blair pulling the comforter up over his pillow.

"Someone needed to," Blair drawled.

"Do you even know how to make a bed?" Chuck continued in disbelief.

Blair was flustered for a moment, then the stack of books on Chuck's side table offered her the distraction she needed. "Interesting reading material," She raised both brows in mocking as she grabbed one.

"It's for a side project," Chuck countered with a smirk, grabbed the book back with one hand, tossed it on the desk and used that arm to push them all into a drawer.

"One that I might benefit from?" Blair teased further.

Chuck was struck speechless for a moment, then he remembered exactly what and who those books were for. "I hope not."

Blair didn't know whether to be amused or disturbed by the answer. Chuck filled up her thoughts before she could find the answer, brought forth the hand he'd been hiding all along. In it was a jewelry case, lined in purple and holding something unique but familiar. It was a platinum and diamond bracelet, the drops matching the necklace that had been bred of butterflies, and the earrings that had been bought from love.

"For enduring me," Chuck offered her the bracelet. "It matches the rest. If you haven't burned the rest by now."

Blair smiled coyly, turned her head to the window and artfully pulled her curls behind her right ear. It left his Christmas gift exposed. She could hear his gasp when he caught them dangling against her neck. It was the first time she'd ever worn them. It was the first fitting day. She felt Chuck's fingertips on her neck before she saw him move, eyes closing on instinct as they traced the tiny pattern. "I have something for you too." She broke the moment, forced her eyes back open. "Or at least something to return to you." She explained as she unzipped her bag again. She pulled his journal from it, offered it back to his safekeeping.

"Did you read it?"

"Everything. Did you want me to?"

Chuck shook that he had, eyes betraying him only a moment.

"You were wrong," Blair started what she'd been waiting to since she'd read the last third of his writing. He stared back curiously and she cupped both cheeks. She needed him to hear the rest completely, to make sure he couldn't turn away because he needed to experience every single syllable. So she pressed hard and spoke clearly. "Chuck Bass, you are not your mother. You will never be that ineffectual or that powerless. And I am not Bart Bass. I am neither in denial, nor afraid of what the truth could entail. And together we would have an entirely different story."

She was right to hold his chin. He tried to dip as she hit on his deepest fear but she wouldn't let him go. She dug her nails until the moment past. "No matter what, I am not scared," She promised. "Haven't I shown that already? Do you really need anything more?" He never said he did, never said he didn't. He just took her hand and squeezed it tight, didn't let it go as his other hand touched her side, the cap of her knee as they sat, her elbow as they talked. They stayed like that, one hand anchored to hers, the other offering touches that were neither sinful nor particularly innocent.

Somewhere in the middle Blair decided that they were one their way to figuring everything out.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa's brow arched the moment she'd opened the door. "It's been seventeen days," She offered only scathing entry, a quick glance at the wall calendar. She figured the blonde had given up by the end of day one, fallen into another blonde by day three. It didn't bother her as much as the fact that, despite those seventeen days, her stomach still jumped to see him. She ignored it. It liked to betray her.

"I wanted to be sure that I had really thought things through." Nate promised and despite her intentions, Vanessa still stepped back to allow him entry into the small space.

"And did you?" She asked as she shut the door behind him.

Nate took the seat at the kitchen counter a little too easily, brushed back his blonde bangs and waited for her to stand across from him before he answered. "I thought deeply," He promised. "About every single part of me, everything I'd done and everyone I'd done it to."

"And?"

"You were right," Nate said. "About every single thing."

Vanessa's jaw dropped to nearly the floor, hung lower when he continued.

"I did operate on whims, I did only consider myself and what I wanted and I never had reasons for doing the things I did," Nate agreed. "Until now," He finished as he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, held it out to the brunette.

She took it from his hand. It was folded into a tiny square and she took her time in unfolding it. She opened each piece, caught the title before before she'd folded it flat. She didn't want to believe it, no part of her did except that damn treacherous stomach.

_The reasons why I want Vanessa Abrams_

_She doesn't measure me by my mistakes_

_She doesn't measure me by my triumphs_

_She don't measure me at all, she just lets me be_

_I miss riding the subway with excitement because she was the end destination_

_I adore the way she bites her lip when she thinks no one is watching_

_She forgave me when I didn't earn it_

_I want to earn her forgiveness now_

_I miss the way her curls covered every inch of my pillow in the morning_

_She's not distracted by my prettiness (anymore)_

_She truly believes that I can offer something beyond my profile_

_She doesn't care if my clothes are rumpled_

_She's slept with Chuck but still sees me_

_Her eyes are the most incredible colour I have ever seen_

_I want them to look at me with something other than disappointment but I'm willing to wait for it_

_She listens with every part of her body_

_She can turn the most banal of evenings into something magical_

_She'd rather not plan my future for me_

_I miss watching her cook and pretending I knew how to help_

_She might, one day, light up with me_

_I love the way she dresses_

_I love the way she talks_

_I love the way she doesn't talk_

_I love the way she kisses_

_I love her_

_Nathaniel Archibald_

She didn't want them to but the tears still sparked in Vanessa's eyes before she reached the end, the final point that was written in bold, capitalized letters.

**SHE WAS MY IDEAL WOMAN ALL ALONG BUT I WAS TOO STUPID TO SEE IT.**

Nate brushed them away, decided that wiping away tears of happiness was better than being the source of the other.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

When the head nurse found Chuck sprawled out on his bed, Blair sitting at the perpendicular angle, legs intertwined she'd chased them down to the recreation center. They'd repeated the position there, Chuck sitting on the largest sofa with his legs stretched out, Blair sat with her back to one arm and sandals in his lap. The rest of the youth gave them a wide circle to talk in, and talk they did, exhausting every single conversation they could consider. Blair talked about Harold and Roman's upcoming nuptials and the post-humorous Eleanor Waldorf fashion show she'd been planning for months. She talked about Serena and her father, breakfast with Bart and their upcoming finals. She talked about her life for a whole hour. Chuck listened with rapt attention, offered either snarky or endearing comments at all the right cues. They made Blair smile until she remembered he hadn't talked about himself. Then she put the first question to him, wanted to see if he'd be as open. "Your dad has visited a lot."

"I enrolled us in the family program," Chuck admitted. "I think it's been good. For both of us."

The simplicity with which he said it, the easiness with which the truth passed his lips. It made Blair smile again. "What have you two been doing?"

"It's mostly talking, a little bit of role reversal," Chuck added with the tiniest smirk. "My dad can actually pull a pretty good _I'm Chuck Bass."_

Blair laughed aloud at the thought. "Oh my god! Did you film it?"

Chuck shook his head. "My dad actually made sure they _didn't _film those parts before he agreed."

"Those parts?"

"Well, they filmed other stuff. Not to keep, they always film over top of the stuff from before. It was these exercises, you're supposed to study your body language and stuff," Chuck's hands moved faster the more convoluted his explanation became. "It's hard to explain."

"Then I'm glad you're trying," Blair reassured him.

"It's been good," Chuck promised again. "He's agreed to try to be more patient and I'm going to try to be more honest. He'd going to be more available and I'll be more open."

Blair could feel some of the tension leave her body as he explained, the rest to be chased away by her next question. "Did you talk about your mom?"

"Yes," Chuck admitted as he turned away. "A lot."

"All that stuff you wrote about her," Blair tried to stare him in the eye but he turned away again, let his chin drop the slightest. "I knew you were close but I don't think even I realized how much." Chuck didn't bring his chin up again, but he did turn his head enough to meet her eyes at this new angle. "I understand it all now...why you did all that, after she died..."

"It's like my whole life fell apart," Chuck admitted as his eyes went to a knee. It came back up before he finished. "I didn't do a good job piecing it back together."

"You were eleven years old," Blair reminded him. "You shouldn't have been providing the glue."

"I could have done better."

"Your father could have too." Blair said. "My father did. I know that you were waiting for it to happen to me," Blair admitted. "I read..."

"I should have known you'd do better than me."

Blair supposed she had. It wasn't just because of her though. "My father took this parenting after loss seminar."

"Really?"

"He made me go to their weekend family retreat," Blair arched her brow. "It included _synchronized yelling_." Even though she was the one to admit it, her arch still dropped down again in embarrassment once she had.

"I would have paid to see that."

"I met a lot of other kids going through stuff like me."

"Any hot ones?"

Blair chuckled at the thought, then turned a little more pensive, eyebrow arching mischievously before she spoke. "There was one. _Real_ hot, with these amazing golden brown eyes and a really _unique_ sense of fashion." She shrugged her shoulders as she finished. "But I knew him from before." When Chuck smiled it was with a warmth that showed those golden edges again, with an ease that made Blair want to tell everything, so she did. "I decided that I had a choice. That I could use my mother's death as an excuse to fall even lower. I already had all the tendencies, despite the counseling it would have been so easy to just let go. But I had a pretty good idea where I'd end if I did. I just had to look at _you_."

"I'm glad I could be of some help," Chuck mumbled sardonically.

"We are _so_ not at a place that you can joke about that!" Blair assured him and Chuck's head dipped low again. She waited until it was up again to finish. "It all came together for me," She explained. "I knew that the excuses were just that, excuses. So I used my mom's death as the reason to get better instead."

It was fitting Chuck supposed. One mother's death would be the moment everything fell apart and the other the moment that everything fit together again. One the worst thing that could have happened, and the other, though they'd never put it to words, perhaps the best. "I still wish I could have been there for you."

"You were for the first moment," Blair reminded him. "And I think you might just be for the next."

"How can you be so confident?" Chuck finally had to ask.

"I have to be," Blair smiled larger. "I couldn't have suffered this much for nothing."

Chuck pushed his sneakers into the far table, navy bleeding into white.

"I forgive you," Blair promised. "Everything you wrote. So break yourself apart, and piece yourself together again but _stronger_ this time." She would have explained herself further but the nurse stuck her head into the room, explained that they were already fifteen minutes into quiet time. That the time for visitors was well past. Blair took the hint, collected her purse from the side and extracted herself. "I'll wait until you're done," She smiled as she turned away, perfect behind sashaying with every step. She was halfway done the hall when he caught her.

He grabbed her hand before she could run away, pulled her back in full view of the entire western wing. He had his fingers to her brunette curls, his mouth on top of hers before he could think the better of it. The taste of her mouth was both comfortingly familiar and strangely new. It was all a little unknown which was unusual because there was nothing new in kissing a girl, even this one. He'd kissed them from the front, the back, every angle and experience but nothing was quite the same anymore. And for once he was thankful.

Blair parted her lips beneath his and his hunger grew exponentially as her lithe body curved into his. They pushed with equal strength, the movement of her tongue along his sparking feelings that didn't begin or end with desire. It exploded fireworks up and down each side of his spine, pulled a kind of lightness from the core of his stomach until it swelled behind his closed eyes. When necessity pulled them apart Chuck felt dizzy except Chuck Bass didn't do dizzy. Then again, once upon a time he hadn't done butterflies and had forgotten how to love.

Once upon a time Blair hadn't wanted either from him.

Chuck stared at her now. Her lips swollen with his assault and her eyes heavy with either happiness or distress. He stared at her and hoped things had changed as fundamentally for her as him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – So there you go...all the couples of FTHEA in their final formations: Edam, NV, DS, BLew, and CB. Who should get together, stay together, fall apart? Any suggestions? Any hates, loves, wished wouldn't happen?_

_oc_journey 06 – I never explicitly said who was abused but I did hint rather broadly towards it. It was the person who said "maybe I felt guilty because I used everything I knew again you but you still kept my secret" at the end of YCFYF. That was her secret. And yeah, in this "AU" CB have been friends since the swing episode in the last chapter. I know it's not like it in the show but there are so many differences between this "AU" and the show that I stopped keeping count._

_Anonymous – Thanks :) I did know the grammar bit though. I had it written the proper way for the correction, changed it and then decided to keep the correction because it was too funny to have C correct N and be wrong about it. I really enjoyed writing the little moments. Maybe I'll do a little ones one-shot one day._

_Blair S. - I agree entirely. He'll always be Chuck Bass but in this fic it's gone through quite a bit of an upheaval._

_Annablake – I don't hate Lily either. She's actually going to have a scene with Bart before the end of this story and it's going to go a hell of a lot better than their last. They might even end up *_gasp*_ friends. I don't think Chuck would care whether Blair slept with either of them. I doubt he'd be judgmental in that way consider he's a man whore himself. But he's got her journal now so I'm sure it'll all be clear._

_Flipped – I can update quicker now since I'm on my summer break :) Expect biweekly posts for these last few ones._

_SilkenBone – I find that I don't like N anymore. I hope they redeem him for me next season. I do like V though, I just wish she wasn't a doormat! (And I thought her sleeping with C in the show was such a WTF moment and screamed 'plot device' from beginning to end. I'm sick of them using her as a plot device (kind of like Eric))  
_

_Anna – Thanks :) Hopefully you'll enjoy the rest._

_Midnight-Sky – Well if you don't like V or N then maybe you can not like them together *hahaha* Yeah, Eric is like a demigod by this point :)_

_BrittyKay – Yeah, giving that journal was like so huge because he wrote every single thing down in it._

_Hey! - thanks_

_Shannon – It's true. Chuck has only ever trusted Blair and with good reason. The only one to ever come close would be Eric and those two don't really overlap :)_

_Up Next – Harold & Roman's wedding. What else could people be doing in Montreal? Who should be there and who shouldn't? Who gets a dress for prom and who gets a date? And......_

_THE MOMENT EVERYONE HAS BEEN WAITING FOR FOR 60 LONG AND ARDUOUS CHAPTERS (Not including the end of YCFYF)._


	60. Chapter Twenty Four Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Part Two**

Chuck knew he'd find something around his pillow, he knew it from her parting words. The way Blair had broken from him with a smile, put a hand to her hip and told him to 'sleep well'. How she'd swung that hip and mentioned something about 'fluffing his pillow for him.' The thing was once he found her journal he knew he wouldn't sleep well, he doubted he'd sleep at all. He'd flip the pages until his eyes ran with red, the morning sun disturbed him, and the head nurse barked at him to get to group. In the end all three happened in approximately the right order, except the red wasn't just from tiredness, the morning sun washed rather than bothered, and Chuck was kind of looking forward to group because he obviously still didn't fully understand the feelings of others.

There were nine envelopes paper clipped to the start, prefaced by a sticky note. The note swore _"You had better appreciate this because I had to promise Jenny I'd help her climb to the top in order to enlist her. Good help is so hard to come by these days."_ Within seven of those envelopes were apologies to match his. The events and sins differed but the tone was essentially the same. The fact there were only seven to his sixteen, it was the balance of their past. The eighth sheet nearly brought tears to his eyes. It was a list of twenty-two ways that he differed from his mother, _just in case he ever doubted it again_. The final page was an invitation like his.

_**Chuck Bass,**_

_**You are invited to attend the 74th annual St. Judes & Constance Billiard Graduation Dinner and Dance to be held on Friday, June 12th at 5:30pm in accompaniment of Blair Cornelia Waldorf.**_

_**BW**_

The black calligraphic text didn't make him smile, neither did the thickly embossed paper or trumped up formality. It was the tiny note in red ink, written in Blair's handwriting and spaced awkwardly below dinner and before dance. It was the letters that promised _only the dance, none of the following parties._ That's the part that made him beam. The smile lasted through the first few pages of her journal, until the truth cracked through it, turned his lips downward again.

There was so much there that he didn't know but even more that he might never fully understand. Blair's journal wasn't like his, the past wasn't unfolded with the benefit of hindsight. It made events that were years past immediate, gave a sincerity to her words that he could not deny. He felt everything she had. The blend of anger and awe that entangled Blair's relationship with her mother, a feeling so easy for Chuck to comprehend because it was a familiar one. He felt the love she had for Nate. It was outdone but his own relief that it had ended years rather than weeks before. He learned the lessons that Dan had taught her, valued the friendship that Serena offered while finally understanding the price it wrought.

There was a hint of voyeurism to the exercise, another feeling he wasn't unfamiliar with. He was like the unannounced visitor creeping into the back room of Blair's thoughts. At least until he fell into his own name, his own experiences. Then he was the other set of eyes viewing his recklessness, the other heart ripped by his cruelty. It wasn't all bad, in fact his role was mostly good, but the bad parts lingered. The last year tore at him because it finalized the journey Blair had been walking all along. He watched the pieces of her self-esteem fall to the ground and wished so desperately that he could have been there to pick them up. Except he was there but he just didn't see it. He read her journey back, the way she had picked them up herself. He felt the pride but even the flush of satisfaction couldn't outdo the assumption that he could have done it first. If he'd just listened a little closer, watched a little longer, thought a little harder; he could have saved her before she was left to save herself.

Chuck had known Blair must be insecure, had seen that insecurity, had rallied against it at times and pulled her out of it at others but he'd always labelled it temperament or genuine unhappiness. It had never shaken the image he had of her. She had remained, to his eyes, always strong and beautiful and ever perfect except it was that drive for perfection that tore out the other two. It left Chuck with the truth. At her core Blair was as insecure and as lost as him, she'd just learned, not to hide her strings, but to weave them into a cashmere throw.

Realizing that shifted something within him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis didn't notice him at first, she was too preoccupied with buttoning her son's spring jacket and retying her laces. She didn't think to look until she asked the desk clerk if she could fetch her running stroller and he replied with "Yes Mrs. Bass." Bart was watching though, sitting in the lobby's overstuffed chair, one leg crossed casually over the other. It uncrossed as Lewis' face went white.

"Why did you call me that?" Lewis threw out in a higher than normal pitch.

"Is something wrong Mrs. Bass?"

The second time brought the colour back with a force, voice deepening again as her face blushed red. "That's not my name."

"Are you sure Mrs. Bass?"

"Are you going to stop now?"

"I can't stop Mrs. Bass."

"How many times are you going to say it?"

"Fifty-seven," The clerk admitted. "I talked Mr. Bass down from sixty, well barely, that man is hard to negotiate with. I actually had to stop before he talked me up to seventy instead."

"So I have to hear it _fifty-four_ more times."

"Yes Mrs. Bass."

"If you would just said yes to me then you could hear it forever." Bart interrupted at the right cue but it didn't seem like a right cue anymore.

Lewis turned to the side chair for the first time and there was something in her eyes, some kind of blind panic that humbled even the CEO of Bass Industries. "Okay," She said with a deep breath and Bart knew it wasn't the yes he was searching for. "That is _so_ not what I was looking for."

Bart could have guessed that from her expression. Nevertheless he was not deterred, he always thought with his feet beneath him. "Do I get a breakfast at least? _For the effort_?"

"I'm late for my run." Lewis explained as she unfolded her stroller.

"You sprained your ankle in California," Bart countered.

Lewis spun around in surprise. She just about asked him where he'd learned that but held back instead. "That's why it's a jog around the block." She explained as she clipped her son into the three-wheeled contraption. "I'd invite you along," She said as she walked around to the other side, put a wrist to the handle. "But I'm not sure you could keep up."

"Please, I think we both know that wasn't a problem."

Lewis was stunned at first, then it changed. It made her laugh, not in derision, Bart was right after all, but more in amusement. That humour took some of the tension and turned it on its side. "Getting desperate are we," She threw back, even sashayed her hips a little as she headed for the door.

Bart felt like cursing but only after he spotted his ex-wife at the door. Lily was wearing spandex and a smile that proved she'd heard it all. Then Bart swore but only under his breath. He was still a gentleman after all. "Don't worry," Lily called across the space before she followed her friend out. "I can't keep up with her either. I think she only keeps me around for shit and giggles."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was hanging beside her white apron when Vanessa arrived at the coffee shop, a slip of purple silk and peacock-coloured string hanging beside plain white cotton, tiny little sign that said '_in case your answer is yes'_. It was exactly the same dress she'd admired at that shop with Chuck. She'd assume that one boy had told the other but knew they hadn't talked since everything had happened.

So maybe it proved that Nate knew her well but how could he not? They had a history. Besides, this was definitely something that Nathaniel Archibald would do, hang a expensive dress on a hook where workers bushed past with stained clothes and the smell of coffee was sure to permeate the fabric. Then again, perhaps that was on purpose. Nate had once teased that he loved the coffee best of all.

So maybe she took that dress and put it safely into the back. It didn't mean that she was going to wear it. She was still thinking about _that_. It just meant that she was the more sensible of the two.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You're sure you want to give this to her?" Bart asked as he held the ring between his fingers. The sun was just setting in Connecticut, cutting rays of light that danced on the slip of gold. Chuck's weeks at Clayton House were closing before him, the ring in his father's hand evidence of the direction he wanted to go at their completion. That beyond the meetings that he was committed to attending faithfully, or the outpatient work he knew would keep him sane, there was one other piece he needed to fit into his new life. His cornerstone.

Chuck had known the question would come when he'd asked. That if his father was the one to fetch his wife's ring and bring it to him, then Bart would want to know it was for the right reasons. That's probably why Chuck asked him. Chuck needed to give the guarantee as much as his father needed to hear it. He needed to put to words that wouldn't run away once he'd done it, or lose his nerve halfway through, that his fear wouldn't spiral into something else. After all, despite the ribbings that ring had garnered Bart, his father had never really wanted to replace it either. "I'm not scared anymore," Chuck promised.

"It's a big step."

"I'm not asking her to marry me," Chuck reminded his dad. "I'm just giving her what she was owed all along."

"You're really not scared?"

Chuck shook his head. It was hard to put to words, to explain the change that had taken place within him. He knew the moment. When Blair had leaned across the table at Victrola, arched her brow and met his challenge it'd stripped everything from him. She hadn't just won the battle but the entire war. She'd finally come to the full realization of what she'd been inching towards all along. She recognized what his need to self-destruct was born of, a twinned need for distance and control expressed by the opposite of both. She'd bridged both by taking them away and then offering them back freely. Knowing she could meet him at his worst, it stripped away the need to do the worst. It made him want to do the opposite instead. It made him want to be honest, to draw close, to tell her everything because she had proved that she could understand. "I'm not scared of anything anymore."

"Then I think your mother would approve," Bart promised as he passed Misty's wedding ring over.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis ran her fingers along the bar to quell the nausea that was building in her stomach. She ignored the fact that Andrew Wiltshire had probably sat like this, calmly with a bourbon in one hand and her future in the other. The bartender offered her something but she waved it away. She had an almost overwhelming desire for a cigarette but she hadn't smoked in twenty years. Perhaps it was just the revisiting of that history. Andrew Tyler put the paper in front of her before he sat, the name enough to trigger another wave of sickness. She swallowed the bile back to the pit of her stomach before it undid her. "You're sure this is the right address," Lewis asked before she closed the folder. "The last guy..."

"Wasn't me," Andrew Tyler said confidently. "Do you really think that your boyfriend would use anything but the best."

"He's not my boyfriend," Lewis said as she put the folder into her purse, stuffed it down so she wouldn't have to think about it until the time came.

"Whatever you call each other in your intimate moments ain't my business," Andrew promised as he kept his hand out. She arched a brow but handed him with cheque without complaint. "But I can guarantee that Mr. William Marsh has been living there since his release. His probation order is quite detailed this time."

"Thank you," Lewis cut him off as she stepped away from the bar. She didn't care to hear the particulars.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You're sure this is the place?" Bart asked his former stepson as they stepped from the town car. They were fifteen minutes out of downtown Montreal, the opposite side from the wedding, a steady progression into the wrong side to be honest. Eric had parked in front of an older Victorian house, the kind of place that Bart would have purchased only to tear down and build over. It had peeling paint on one side and wood siding hanging crooked on the other.

"It's what my mom said." Eric promised.

Bart fortified himself but it was harder than he thought it would be. The tarp that dressed one corner of the roof was the kicker wasn't it?

"Mr. Bass?" A voice questioned, drew their attention away from the dark window of the past. Bart put his hand out, offered all the social niceties, stumbled over how to introduce Eric until the blonde put his hand out and solved it for him.

"I'm his son's _best friend_."

"Lucien Garrond," The man offered in returned. He was short and round, with thick lines around his eyes and gray hair to match, probably close to seventy and looking every day of it. "My wife said you are interested in funding some repairs to our group home."

Bart nodded his head as the older man directed him inside. At least the poverty wasn't reflected there. The inner workings were far lighter, cleaner and well decorated. Everything was of good quality, if about fifteen years out of date.

"May I ask the source of you interest in the place?"

"Someone very dear to me grew up here. She did a lot for my family and I'd like to do offer something in return." The man seemed to accept the truth for what was offered, lead them through more than half of the house before he asked for the name. "Lewis Josephine Smith."

That made the older man smile as he continued the tour, a kind of private smile that made Eric speak next. "You remember her."

"You couldn't but remember that one; she was unforgettable from start to finish."

"Really?" Eric arched his brow and prompted the man to elaborate, glanced back at his former stepfather who was waiting with something far from indifference.

"None of the kids are happy to come here," Lucien promised. "But it's not often that the kicking and screaming is literal." The older man waved away the description as soon as he'd offered it up, gave them a different picture instead. "Most of the teens are only here for a few weeks or months. Lewis stayed five years. This was her home." Bart and Eric shared a glance. That was humbling. "She'd be happy for you to fix up the outside."

"I think we can do better than that," Bart countered as they reached the end of the last hall.

"She'd be happy enough with the outside," Lucien promised. "She'd always wanted to do that too. When she did the rest."

"She did what?"

"Lewis surrendered half of her trust to pay off both mortgages and fix the insides," The man explained with a wave. "She wanted to do more but my wife and I convinced her to keep the rest of her parents' money, for tuition and all." Something sparked in the older man's face. "There's a plaque from the donation. Would you like to see it?" Lucien didn't wait for an answer, just opened the last door. It was to the main study space, and at the center of the far wall was a frame. He pointed to it. It was a collection of four photographs, matted to fill all corners and surround the plaque in the middle. They progressed in age. "This was six months before Tanguay," The worker tapped the first. Lewis had raven black hair that turned her face to a paler white, matched it with a thick line of black around each eye and bright red lips. She was reclined on a ripped up sofa, pencil thin legs falling from a red plaid dress cut short enough to show nearly everything. She might have been thirteen, but the blank expression on her face, the anger held behind a clenched jaw, it was anything but childlike. "Six months after," The man tapped the next. Lewis wasn't looking at the camera at all in that one. She was sitting sideways on a thick chair, jean covered legs pulled to her chest. Her face was cast downward, eyes reading the book she'd propped on her knees. It was closer to the woman they knew in everything but the navy blue hair. "This was after she ran her first marathon." He tapped the third. She had thick red hair that was tied back firmly in a ponytail, a water bottle in one hand, impossibly skinny legs crossed casually below her numbered jersey. She was staring at the camera again but this time with a crooked smile that drew the viewer more deeply in.

"What is her natural hair color?" Eric asked after the third. It was a reasonable question. She'd had auburn hair at St. Judes, replaced that with blonde and black hair this year. And based on those photographs she could also be raven haired, redheaded. He eliminated the blue as highly improbable.

"She's a blonde," Bart said confidently.

Eric considered it. Woman usually colored to blonde, not away from it. "I don't think so."

"I _know_ so."

"Really?"

"Want to put $50 on it?"

The social worker held back his answer in amusement, waited until after Eric had shook his head in agreement. "She went back to her natural hue for graduation," The older man tapped the final photograph. It was a photograph of Lewis in cap and gown, brilliant smile reflecting upward to her green eyes. The hair fell in waves from both sides, wove through the yellow stripe of valedictorian. It was most extraordinary color Eric had ever seen, blonde but lacking most of the usual straw undertone, so pure that it was almost appeared white against the stark black of her clothing. "She dyed it back to brown within a week. Never did like people staring at her, that one."

They were out of the house before Eric parted begrudgingly with his cash. "How did you know?"

"Woman rarely dye _all the way down_," Bart answered with the smuggest smile. It almost made Eric take his bill back.

He kept the keys to the town car instead. "I'll drive you to the wedding," Eric said with a glance at his watch. "Then I have an errand."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair's eyes caught Eric's as he scurried from the back of the room, took his seat as the pianist played the entrance march, about twenty seconds before Blair's father and his once lover emerged from behind the same door. She arched a brow and Eric arched one back. It made her giggle until her eyes were taken up with the procession. It wasn't traditional even though her father mostly was. They probably just couldn't decide who ought to play the part of bride. There wasn't a contest. Blair knew. Harold might have played the part of wife to Eleanor but Roman was going to play the part of wife to him. Blair just didn't dare to express either, at least to those involved. So she stood at the front instead, her role loosely defined as first witness because there could be no bridesmaid without a groomsman. She wore a gown of brushed cream that hung just below the knee, cut and pattern demure enough to please her father, the addition of flowers and a beaded tiara enough to please Roman.

Her eyes welled the moment Roman and her father twined their hands at the front. It was the natural response to their smiling faces, to the Justice of the Peace's solemn words except it nearly wasn't. Eighteen months ago Blair would have taken the yellow roses in her hands and used them to beat Roman to the ground, laughed if the thorns had torn at his picture-perfect face. Now she smiled wider than any of the guests, even Cyrus who still had the kindest heart. She listened to the vows both men had crafted, and understood the sincerity behind them. Maybe she had to know what genuine love was built on to appreciate it, or maybe it was enough to know that she was genuinely loved by both the men standing beside her.

Blair had only one regret. She knew that everything would have sparkled brighter, buried deeper within her with one more person there to share it. Harold and Roman exchanged rings and her tears threatened. She turned her eyes away before those tears could fall, scanned one side of the crowd and then the other, landing last on a solitary figure standing at the back. She blinked two tears free in surprise, sure that the image was more product of her imagination than fact. It wasn't. Chuck was still there, reclined against a wall nearest the door, black suit cut through with pink, fedora pulled low enough to cover all but his smirk. It spread as her smile did. He tilted his head up, revealing eyes that softened as they met hers, showed that even if the smirk remained, there was more for her.

He mouthed '_I love you_' across the distance. At least she assumed it wasn't '_elephants feet'_. He'd played that game with her years past the point when it was still funny. Than again, after reading his journal, maybe it'd never been about that damned elephant. The declaration made her heart jump, her eyes turned back to the wedding long enough to control the building heat of her cheeks. She chanced a look back as her fathers kissed, enough to see Chuck wave his head to the side, to the doors and the smaller balcony. Then the explosion of applause distracted her and he was gone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Eric could hear his sister's heels from halfway across the room. He turned in time to see her flushed cheeks and put a finger to his lips to shush. It didn't work. It rarely did with her. "I heard Chuck is here."

"He is," Eric replied with a smirk.

"Where is he?" Serena asked with her eyes going to both sides of the room. She surveyed the crowd of guests breaking from the ceremony and progressing to the reception. She ought to have followed her brothers eyes, they were fixed on the exterior glass and the scene unfolding before him.

"He's on the balcony," Eric said knowingly, only put a hand out when Serena moved without thinking. "Look first," He instructed with an arched brow.

She did and the picture presented rendered even Serena Van der Woodsen absolutely speechless.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had his hat off by the time she reached the balcony, it dangled aimlessly in one hand, eyes surveying the exterior gardens until he heard her heels. Then he turned, put that hat on the railing and waited for her. She was stunningly beautiful, thick chestnut hair woven through a crown of pearls, curls pinned in loose formation. "Aren't you supposed to be at Clayton House?" Blair asked with a building sharpness. No matter how happy she was to see him, how much she had missed him, Blair was still worried.

"Apparently I have food poisoning," Chuck said, "And I might need to be in my room for a few hours. Which leaves me exactly fifteen more minutes," Chuck said with a look at his watch. The boy from the next room was going to cover for him for exactly three hours. It was hardly enough to hop the tiny plane he'd chartered for the journey but he was determined. "I really didn't want to miss another important moment in your life." There was a reproach on her lips but it died somewhere with his mischievous smile, was lost entirely with his next words. "In fact," His eyes sparked as that smirk returned. "I wanted to make one instead."

"Make what?"

"An important moment," Chuck promised with his hand put out. Blair's smile met his as her hand intertwined. It was just a smug but with perhaps the greater justification. She didn't say a thing, just waited confidently for what was next. "I have something for you," He admitted as he pulled her closer still, stood her right in front, eyes and feet parallel, shoulders nearly touching.

"Another bracelet?" She teased as she turned her wrist against his arm, diamonds glittering into the setting sun. Her teasing slowed as his fingers went to his pocket, died entirely when she saw what he pulled from it.

"I know it's not the Vanderbilt diamond," He acknowledged. "In fact, it's not much of anything except to me. To me it's a family heirloom."

"It's perfect," Blair promised.

"Blair," Chuck took the deepest breath he could, threw his rehearsed words to the side and spoke from the heart. "I am not arrogant enough to assume that I deserve you. I know that I don't. So I'm thankful instead. Thankful that despite all my mistakes, and blunders, and outright cruelty you can still find it in your heart to love me. That you can still look at me the way you do now," He couldn't help but smile or bow his head closer to hers. "I can't promise that I will be perfect. I know I won't be. I hope that I will never mess up again but I can't promise that either. What I can promise is that I will keep trying, that I will never give up, that I will always work towards becoming the man that you truly _do _deserve. That no matter how scared, or overwhelmed or just plain stupid I get, that I will work to help you understand." Chuck brushed his forehead to hers as he held his mother's most prized possession between his fingertips. "From this day forward I promise to protect you like you have protected me, to build you up rather than tearing you down, to take your weaknesses as you have done mine. To care for you with all the patience, love and commitment that I can offer. And this," He opened her palm and laid Misty's ring into it. "This is the symbol of that promise."

Blair blinked back the tears, held them back long enough to give her answer. "Put it on my finger," She whispered with her lips inches from his. He did, noses brushing as he looked down.

The ring was a perfect fit. That must have meant something.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The crowd of interested observers grew as Chuck make his declaration. Damien had joined his boyfriend, Dan slipped his arms around his girlfriend's waist, his sister standing beside Eric freely for the first time in over a year. Even Cyrus meandered into the back somewhere. They sighed collectively as Chuck brought his hand back to his girlfriend's cheek, as she turned her whole face into it. She closed her eyes and he kissed each of them. When they reopened, Chuck kissed her lips but did not linger.

"Not enough," Cyrus muttered in disappointment from behind the crowd. He should have waited a moment because it only took that moment for Chuck to push forward again.

He started at the corner of Blair's lower lip, built a slow burning fire even though they'd always been a raging inferno. His lips travelled the length of hers slowly, gave almost chaste pecks at first, feather light expressions that gave way to greater force, to teeth that grazed the corners of her control. Blair's fingers went to the back of his head, pulled at the hair she found there as her hips pressed into his, used so much force that he stumbled a half step backward. Her tongue was next, pushing past the last barrier until his hands matched hers, ran down the length of her back and below, held her tight until they both grew lightheaded and oxygen formed the greatest need.

"Was that enough?" Damien cracked once the two lovers broke apart again, faces flushed and breath coming in gasps.

"It might have been a bit too much." Cyrus admitted.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Their cheeks hadn't dimmed by the time they came back together, foreheads pressed, breath mingling as they recovered themselves. Chuck returned his hand to her cheek, she kept her hands to both sides. He was tracing the line to her jaw when they heard it, the tiny little beep from his Blackberry that signified they had overstayed their time together. Chuck ignored it and Blair wished she could to. She could feel the familiar thrum of electricity spark through her entire body, the kind of heat that was tied exclusively to him. She wanted to throw his phone over the decorative wall, pull him into the nearest private room and fulfil their course. She could see in his eyes that he wanted the same.

Which is exactly why, when the phone beeped again, she was the one to tell him to go. He dipped his head to one side the moment she said it, breathed deep enough to recover himself. She pulled back just enough to let the evening air rush between their bodies, to give him the needed distance. He kissed her once on the cheek before he pulled away, far enough to the back to border the pulse point at the base of her jaw. She kept her eyes closed until she couldn't feel him near. Then she remembered. "Chuck, wait," Blair called before he hit the wall. He turned back. "You never answered my invitation."

"Yes," Chuck nodded. "If you're there with me, then I can do anything." He waited a moment longer, paused to see if she'd say anything else. When she didn't he hopped the small barrier and started for the parking lot.

Blair was pretty sure she didn't start breathing again until he was out of sight. When it came back, even closing her eyes couldn't make it steady, couldn't make her heart beat at a regular pace, or chase away the spasms of delight that coated her stomach and ran up her spine. She wasn't sure she wanted any of it to go away so she opened her eyes again, touched the ring that she'd been left with and saw the hat on the tiny balcony wall. Blair took it into her hands, waved it once towards the bushes but stopped shot of yelling out his name. She smiled down into the fedora instead, ran the rim between her fingertips as the smile expanded. She guessed that this much happiness, it had to be illegal in every state or province.

When she turned back to the party, saw the crowd gathered there, it added a blush to her smile. She pulled the hat to her face to hide both.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Okay, I have something to confess. I'm considering including a little outtake at the end of next chapter. Let's just say an 'enhanced' ending for the over-18 crowd. I've never written smut before in my life but I think that after 60 chapters of pure hell it might just be well deserved (and Sky Samuelle has promised to coach me through it and she is the queen) Those of you that are old enough? Interested? _

_CBEBIW trory12 – I always wished they'd have an outtake with the actor that played Bart making that line. I would have been priceless :) I'm still so sad that they killed him off. I don't know if I'll ever get over it._

_Dancing-Supastar – Chuck's definitely on the right track to being 110% better._

_Janelle188 – I'm so glad that you enjoyed my little tale. You actually picked the best time to get to the end as we'd already hit the point of fluff. I am a huge fan of the Georgina-Chuck dynamic. I wish they'd pit those two against each other. I know G has three episodes in the new season which kind of makes me happy but sad. It's not long enough to have a week developed battle of wills between G and C or B._

_Annablake – Adam is about to make one last reappearance. As for Kaitlyn, I just like to think she was overprotective of her sister. I'm sure she'll be nice now :) I can definitely see your point about N & D. I promise you that Dan and Chuck will have one more memorable scene together *giggles* As for Blew. I have to say that I went back and forth a bit about whether I wanted them together in the long run (and in the process I kind of fell in love with the pairing too, too much as I've been trying madly to pare down their scenes but I like them too much). However, Lewis needs to deal with her immigration issues before I worry about pairing them or not ;) (PS: I don't mind the long reviews from you, in fact I kind of adore them)._

_Cb4e – I promise from the bottom of my heart to never break up CB again._

_Flipped – I hope you enjoy C's realizations about B._

_BrittyKay – I can promise that I've given a lot of thought about all the characters, their personalities, the roads they're traveling after high school and that everyone will get the 'happy ending' that suits them best. Whether everything is happy, well that's up for debate._

_Sky Samuelle – As much as I'd like Chuck to spit on Nate at this point I don't think Chuck could ever really do that. It will all balance though._

_Hey! - thanks :)_

_winnie – the strange thing is I think my writing went less carnal as the show went more. It's one of the minor reasons why I wasn't impressed with the finale (and believe me there were major reasons). The physical part of their relationship is only one part in my mind, otherwise what truly makes Blair different from any of the other girls Chuck's slept with. I mean the man's used call girls! I'm sure at least some of them were better in bed than Blair._

_Up Next – PPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!! (AKA - Let's get Chuck and Blair in the same state again).  
_


	61. Chapter Twenty Four Part Three

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Part Three**

The whirl of rooters was so deafening that Chuck almost didn't hear the pilot say "there's a problem." It took a second to clear, and when it did Chuck had a momentary flash of dropping like deadweight into the East Hudson. It'd been fitting he supposed.

"What do you mean problem?"

"There's traffic," The pilot yelled louder and Chuck nearly snorted. Wasn't the whole purpose of travelling by helicopter to avoid traffic? He could have found it amusing if his watch didn't read that he was late already. It was 5:15pm on Friday, June 12th. His graduation dinner was to start in less than fifteen minutes and he was still wearing cotton pants and a green button up.

"How long?"

"Perhaps you should sit down," The second pilot suggested with a full stare. "We'll advise you when things change."

Chuck could have snapped rather than stepped away but he knew that the fault was his. He was the one who played hookey to see Blair in Montreal, the one who'd been caught and expected to complete another day at Clayton House to make up for it, and the one who cared enough to wait until the slip of paper was in his hand. It was a certificate that proved he'd completed the full twenty-one days of alcohol and drug treatment. It'd been folded lovingly into his suitcase, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, was the paper he'd probably value more than his high school diploma.

Chuck considered retaking his seat beside the elderly couple. They were the other problem. Apparently Bart had given him use of the Bass helicopter only as a partial loan. Marty and Bertie as he'd _affectionately_ named them in his mind (It wasn't their real names but Chuck really didn't care at this point, or any other if he was honest) were sitting primly with hands crossed. Chuck had endured the detour to collect them, the refuelling he'd calculated as supercilious. Maybe it wasn't now. Marty apparently sat on the board which means Chuck should have known him but he didn't. He could have made friendly but why bother? They were both old enough to have a foot in the grave already. They'd be long gone by the time it mattered.

So he flipped his phone open, held the one until he heard his girlfriend's voice. "Blair," He started but that was as far as he got. One tiny beep and his phone died right in his hand. It wasn't due to the roaming from 300 ft, it was the fact that he and Blair had already talked it to death that morning and he'd been too preoccupied to recharge. "Shit," He said it once, loudly, clearly as he stared at the black screen. Then he stomped and added a string, growing in volume with his frustration. "Shit, shit, shit!" He didn't stop until the grey haired man shifted noticeably. Then Chuck put the phone into his pocket, calmly brushed at his suede jacket and uttered "excuse me" in the most gentlemanly voice he could muster.

He whispered "shit" one final time, under as his breath, as he retook his seat, when he stared down and saw the cement where his booted feet ought to have been standing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa smoothed the purple silk against her slender curves, studied her silhouette in the full-length mirror. Her curls had been woven into a plait, pinned atop her head with a matching purple ribbon coiled through the up sweep. It was perhaps too formal for her, too exacting to fit her personality. That's why she paired it with chunky earrings and a matching bracelet that overwhelmed her tiny wrist and matched the explosion of colour that decorated her back. Vanessa turned to study the effect. It was modesty and exhibition, the back plunging to the curve at the base its base, peacock coloured string covering until she turned. Then flashes of skin tantalized under the light. She knew Nate would love it.

How much she wanted him to. That's when she had to admit how much she still loved him. It'd been covered under layers of anger and betrayal, layers that Nate had been slowly pulling aside with daily visits. His blue eyes sparkled so bright that they burned through their divisions. His hands pulled not only at hers but at her heart too. So she had to admit it. Nate was at least halfway to filling in their cracks. Vanessa had laced both of her heels by the time the buzz came from downstairs. She pushed the button only long enough to yell that she was coming down, didn't even let the voice greet her.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

In the last week Hummers had been traded for stretch limousines and friends had been traded for estranged others. Blair still refused to talk to Nate and while Serena had bridged that gap the blonde knew better than to argue the point with her best friend. So Nate and Vanessa headed straight from Brooklyn, and only Dan and Serena waited on the queen to descend. When she did, the other two caught their breath in astonishment.

"Blair," Serena spoke first. "It's..."

"Red," Dan finished his girlfriend's thought.

Indeed it was. It was fire-engine, pomegranate-juice, crayola-coloured red. Blair turned once when she reached the end of the stairs, a slow pirouette that showed every angle. It was the same dress she'd crafted in blue, one that fell from her shoulders, was pulled tight through the waist with a lace-stitched bodice and ended with a small train at the back. She hadn't changed the lace to black as in the dress Chuck had originally suggested. She'd kept it silver to match necklace, earring and bracelet set she wore. "Don't you know," She arched a brow as they moved towards the side room. "I look amazing in red."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The scene didn't change much in the next half hour, a circular tour of New York that showed the same buildings and streets in constant rotation. Chuck tried patience, he played at it, pretended his mind possessed it until his watch tripped to 5:45pm. Then he stood with none of it left. He tapped the second pilot on the shoulder, arching just one eyebrow once the older man turned. It was enough. "We're trying our best."

"What's the problem?"

"There's a chopper on the Bass building already," The pilot explained. "It's having some mechanical problems."

"And are they going to fix it before _tomorrow_?"

"We're doing what we can."

"Land this thing in a Walmart parking lot if you have to, but get it on the ground."

"Mr. Bass."

"Land it Peter or else your next job will be flying cargo planes out of Inuktitut," Chuck clipped firmer.

"I'll call in a favour," The pilot promised.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It took until quarter to six for the doubts to set in. Until then Serena and Blair ignored the clock, didn't mention the five phone calls they'd attempted without answer. Dan wasn't so easily swayed but he waited the full forty-five minutes before he suggested they leave without Chuck. He knew how much the other two girls wanted their boyfriend and brother to be reliable. Blair waved them to the door when the question came, promised she'd take one of her family cars when Chuck arrived. There was something almost humbling in her unspoken trust because, honestly, since when did Chuck Bass deserve it? It didn't waver even as Serena's did.

"Blair, why don't you come with..."

"You don't understand. Chuck _promised_ me and he's going to be here." Blair swore. She kissed her best friend once, even hugged Dan and then left them to go on alone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa was out the front before she realized it was a brunette and not a blonde who'd been waiting for her. A brunette with curiously high cheekbones and hair that hung nearly as long as hers. She didn't notice either, her eyes were fixed on his blue eyes that were fixed on her. "Adam." She greeted but her former film mentor didn't say anything in return. He couldn't drag his eyes from her long enough to put the words together. "Adam?" She tried again, this time with a brow that arched in amusement.

It took a deep breath but he managed to recover himself. "Wow! You look...incredible."

"Thank you."

"I bought some tickets," Adam waved them both. "Was going to invite you to the David Lynch marathon at Pioneer Theatre, as friends_, _but I think you might be a little overdressed."

"I'm going to prom."

"With your boyfriend?"

The affirmation died somewhere on Vanessa's lips. She and Nate hadn't exactly reached that point in logical progression but that wasn't exactly the problem. "He's..." Vanessa struggled for the definition.

"Sorry," Adam put both hands up. "Not my business...I should probably go...let you finish getting ready...not that you _aren't_ ready...you look just," He took another breath. "Great." He promised with an awkward flip of his hands. "Well, anyway, bye," He spun around, shook his head at himself as he walked away.

Vanessa tried not to giggle as he left, pressed a hand to her lips to keep the sound inside. When it calmed she pulled the hand back away, bit her lip without even realizing it. "Adam," She yelled out before he could reach the first intersection. He turned back and she could see he'd been blushing, the tiniest spark of red still showed at the base of his neck. "What's playing tomorrow?"

"Blue Velvet and Lost Highway."

"Perhaps we could go," Vanessa suggested, "_as friends._"

"I'll trade my tickets." Adam promised as his hands flipped one more time. He almost looked like he'd walk back, like he'd say more but something stopped him and he walked away instead. Vanessa watched him disappear, genuine smile on her face and passing notion that she wouldn't mind chasing him, purple dress pulled up to her knees and stilettos bouncing on the pavement.

The thought didn't last long. It took only one wide hand pressed to her back, the hazy scent of polo and it was washed clear. When she actually turned, saw his blue eyes, the perfect definition in his chin and the open smile again being offered to her, then she remembered nothing of the other. She saw only Nate.

It was proof that the blonde had gotten at least one thing wrong. Vanessa was still blinded by his beauty.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck started to play with his garment bag as the minutes ticked closer to 6pm. It hung from the ceiling of the right side, held the tuxedo that he didn't have the foresight to dress in. It was surprisingly all black except for the bright red cummerbund Blair had insisted upon. He glared out the window as he pushed it back and forth, frustration building, mind playing visions of Blair's tears.

"Mr. Bass," The pilot finally pulled his headphones off. Chuck was beside him in a moment. "Columbia is going to let us use their medivac pad, but just long enough to unload." Columbia? That was a bitter twist of irony. "We're going to land the chopper at Tetebouro after."

"Time?" Chuck asked.

"Five minutes." The pilot promised as the headphones went back on.

That would put him at six o'clock proper. He paced the tiny space once in consideration and then opened his garment bag. He had his green button on the seat before either of his elderly compatriots could complain. The shoes were kicked next, pants pulled down without a second thought. He kicked them to the floor as Bertie clutched tighter to her speckled purse. He kept the black silk boxers on. He didn't want to be landing at Columbia for an entirely different reason.

It wasn't easy to dress in a small compartment where swaying was the norm. Chuck anchored his feet to the floor, fell only once in the process, landing on a stunned Bertie. He caught a good look at her face as he pulled back. He decided that she might not have minded if he'd lost those boxers after all, was sure of it when she offered to tie his red bow tie for him. Chuck politely declined.

"One minute," The pilot yelled from the front and Chuck sat just long enough to tie his dress shoes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair stared at her recrafted masterpiece. She'd replaced the dress when she'd replaced the date, bribed her designer to have the original design recast in red. It'd cost her a small fortune to have it done within two days but Blair wanted to believe it was worth it, wanted to believe in the boy who had preempted the change but at 6pm those beliefs were starting to crumble. Doubt was starting to build up in its place, taking her certainties and recasting them as mistakes. So she rubbed at his mother's ring, twice, took the strength of his words and let them lift her up.

She made another decision as well. That her waiting would pass easier in a swell of her closest friends than alone in her penthouse apartment. So she stood and yelled down the hall for her fathers. She opened her phone and texted Chuck to meet her at the Plaza.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You know I never went to my own graduation dinner and dance," Damien explained as he tied the skinny black tie. They were encamped in the Van der Woodsen suite, had waited until Serena had left to fanfare and photographs before they started preparing themselves.

"You've never been to prom?"

"I didn't say that. Just that I never went to my own," Damien clarified. "I've crashed more than my share." He spun as he folded the tie beneath his dinner jacket. "So, do I blend in enough to be conspicuous?"

"You don't blend in anywhere." Eric said as he flatted his own suit. It was navy to his boyfriend's black. That wasn't the difference between the boys. Formal wear fitted Eric more than it ever would Damien.

"I'd be offended..."

"But you know it's true," Eric countered in amusement. "So are you ready?"

"To cause some mischief!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had very nearly taken to biting his nails by the time the taxi stopped in front of the Waldorf apartment building. It was a habit he'd had all through his toddler years, preschool years, even the first few years of grade school. It hadn't really bothered Misty and they had no nanny to offer an alternative statement on the matter so the habit had stuck. At least until second grade, when Bart had taken to painting his nails with foul tasting white liquid. He'd quit shortly thereafter.

Harold and Roman were still standing on the street when Chuck jumped from the cab, bounced on his unnecessarily expensive shoes. He asked "Where is Blair" and hoped. Harold pointed at a black stretch limousine, not parked in front but cruising slowly, already halfway down the street.

In hindsight Chuck probably looked pretty crazy, probably was pretty crazy to run out into rush hour traffic, pressed tuxedo on and corsage clutched in one of his hands. He used the other to bounce off a few doors, pass by hoods as horns sounded and drivers cursed. He was a bit like a football defender except the final prize wasn't blocking seven points but not losing them all. He was one car behind when he spied his chance. He jumped for it. Quite literally to be honest. He leapt up onto a bright yellow city cab and within two steps was down on the other side. From there it was only three further steps until he could knock on Blair's window. He hit once and nothing happened. So he hit three more times before the window rolled down, a deliberately slow movement that exposed brown eyes inch by inch. "I hope you're not going to ask me for a ride." Blair chipped as the glass disappeared below the metal.

"Depends on which type."

"With one usually comes the other," Blair pointed out.

"And you're opposed?" Chuck matched his gait to the slow meander of the limo.

Blair arched just one brow before she pulled the door open. When he sat down her brow arched higher. "You're late," Blair pointed out with a wicked rather than angry smile playing at her lips. The kind of smile that proved, just maybe, she'd seen his attempt at leapfrog.

"I was detained."

"You're sweating."

Chuck smirked wider. "Thinking of you always gets me hot and bothered."

"I'd be flattered but thinking of Cece Rhodes probably gets _you_ hot and bothered."

"But she doesn't get flowers," Chuck teased right back as he held out her corsage. There were three red roses decorating a large lily. Blair put her hand out playfully to accept, let him keep her fingers once the task was done. He lifted them to his lips and Blair nearly cursed when the limo pulled to a stop. She was tempted to yell at the Waldorf driver, insist he take a tour around the city but Chuck was already standing beyond the door, hand held out like the gentleman he could sometimes be.

It was an action he'd preformed a hundred times before except this time was different. This time his thumb met not bare skin but a tiny raised edge, a tiny band of gold and one brilliant ruby. It ought not to have dazed. He'd given it to her, he'd slipped it on her finger himself but it still held his eyes. To see _that_ ring on _that _finger, not as a barrier but a binding to their intertwined fingers. He took the deep breath but he was already undone.

Blair was as stunned once she saw it. Her muscles paused in motion and eyes grew to saucers. She'd heard the tears without the sight, known the sobs without the droplets, felt the tears without the sound but she'd never seen both united and the sight was mesmerizing. They washed out the darkest depths of his eyes, mined the gold from beneath until it overtake. She stared just a moment, enough to memorize every detail, then she closed her hand firm and dragged him back. She re-closed the limousine door, pushed him across the divide but did not leave him there. Blair pushed aside her dress as she straddled him, thoughts of crumples and creases not even registering as his hands followed the skin she'd exposed.

Perhaps it was inappropriate. It might have been caused by Blair's already existing desire to that end. Except it wasn't. He'd simply never been that beautiful before. Handsome, yes, intriguing, alluring and even seductive but it took the tears to render him simply beautiful. He kept his eyes downcast, surveyed the line of her stockings, touched the clip at their apex, followed that upward to her garter. Blair stopped him there. Not because she wanted him to stop but because she wanted to see those eyes once more. She folded a hand beneath his chin, pushed upward to that end, breath catching again. It was there, vulnerability wrapped with a fear he didn't think to hide. He was entirely open. It was the moment Blair knew the changes were permanent. So she kissed him without any fear of her own. She started with his lips and then moved upward until she covered his still burning lids, tasted what she hadn't seen in years.

Chuck almost told her to stop there, as she tripped a little too close to his history. He could have except for the feeling. It wasn't a perverse recreation, it was closer to a blissful rewritting. The movements were the same, the way her lips fitted softly to his skin, the way her fingers inched downward in a slow but steady progression. It was the same except the feeling at the base of his stomach. There was no fear, no unease or building apprehension. It had to be more than the age. He felt completely at ease surrounded by hints of rose, entirely safe and protected. So he leaned back into her instead, left a trail of kisses along her jaw, met the base of her ear and captured her earlobe. Blair has his bow tie removed, had the buttons of his shirt undone by the time Chuck had traced the full length of her ear. He let his tongue linger in the hollow behind and she moaned but his thoughts were clearer. He leaned forward and whispered the clearest into that ear. "I love you." He promised and this time he truly meant it. He wasn't some little boy captured as much by shock and awe as anything genuine. He was a fully formed man who'd travelled the long road back to where he'd always belonged.

"Blair!" The screech broke as the door opened, releasing a rush of evening air into the now overheated space. "Oh my god!" Serena's hands went to her eyes when she saw her former brother was there, when she saw a little too much of him. "I'm _so_ sorry."

Chuck arched one brow as he sat back, Blair immediately falling into the space beside him. She pulled furiously at her silk and lace skirt until it covered. Chuck pulled the two sides of his white silk shirt together, make a halfhearted attempt to cover while Serena's face went redder than Blair's dress. "Serena," Chuck gave her a single glare.

"I'm sorry, I thought Blair might be alone but of course she's not..."

Chuck rolled his eyes in defeat, started to button his shirt when Serena didn't gather the hints. She was definitely not getting a graduation gift from him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You need to talk to him," Vanessa decided as she followed her boyfriend's eyes. Nate was anchored at the edge of the dance floor, eyes following the couple in matching red. Chuck and Blair were as wrapped together as they had been all evening, trading whispered comments, smothered laughter and kisses that had started out innocent but were beginning to stray beyond. A month ago Vanessa would have assumed Nate's eyes were on Blair but now she knew they were on Chuck.

"He doesn't want to talk to me."

"You won't know that until you try."

"I doubt he'll forgive me," Nate decided as he raised a punch glass to his lips and drank the blend of strawberry and mango.

Vanessa ran a hand down her boyfriend's back, eased out the tight corners and finally pushed him lightly towards the floor. "You'll never forgive yourself if you don't try."

Nate still hesitated, pushed back against Vanessa's hand again, tried to escape because he didn't do difficult or uneasy. He doubted himself until his eyes caught Vanessa. There was something in those violet orbs, some trust that made him nod his head, to meander slowly through the rows of couples, ending in front of his target only as the music died. Blair caught him first and when she did, she pulled her boyfriend to her with almost territorial dominance. Her eyes narrowed but she did not step between. Chuck caught his eyes next, leaned back into Blair once he did. Chuck whispered something into her ear and Nate was half convinced the movement was for his benefit. At least until Blair stepped away with a final glare. "Nathaniel," Chuck said it neutrally. That didn't help. Not that one often knew where Chuck's head was at, but a clue would have helped.

"Chuck," Nate offered back as his eyes scanned the room, watched the two girls encamped on opposite ends of the floor, watching the exchange with very differing expressions. Blair's was dark, Vanessa's was light. Vanessa's was hopeful, Blair's was doubtful. "I'm sorry," Nate threw out before he could lose his nerve.

"For what?" Chuck threw back just as neutrally.

"Well, you know. For what I said and then Victrola."

"I chose to drink Nathaniel," Chuck pointed out and the blonde breathed a little easier. "You didn't force me to do anything." It was the truth. Nate never forced him to do anything. The problem was that Nate rarely stopped him from doing anything either. In fact, Nate was more often standing to the side, cheering him as he went further. Chuck had the tiniest suspicion that if he were standing at the edge of a building, Nate might just offer to hold his coat rather than pull him back. That being said, Chuck couldn't hate his former best friend for trying to win Blair at all costs. Chuck couldn't help but remember once Nate had been on the other side and Chuck had done everything in his power to the same end. Perhaps his games didn't have the same sinister undertones but in hindsight the methods weren't all that different. So Chuck couldn't hate him for it but it didn't mean he had to like him either, not when he'd come to the realization that Chuck Bass might just deserve better rather than worse. "Have a nice evening," Chuck offered as he walked back across the dance floor to his date.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Have I told you how amazing you look?" Dan teased as Serena returned to him. She truly was spectacular, a golden goddess in silk fabric that was draped to emphasize all the right parts of her. It was bunched at her narrow waist, fell away over her long legs. She'd paired it with a long chain of black pearls, balanced a band to match on her short threads of blonde.

"Only fifteen times," Serena promised. "I thought you loved me for more than the externals."

"Most of the time," Dan promised. "But tonight I love both."

"I think tonight you love everything."

Dan nearly laughed, was inclined to agree until he saw something he didn't love, or someone to be more exact. Chuck was crossing the dance floor, and based on the look alone, he and Serena were the final destination. Dan felt the instinctive need to run. Perhaps it was a hangover from the black eye he'd suffered, or maybe it was the memory of having actually put his lips on the other boy. Probably the second. That was far more disturbing. Serena didn't let him run away. She slipped an arm through his as Chuck approached.

"Dan," Chuck started, proving things had changed from the first syllable. When had that boy every called him anything but Brooklyn?

"Chuck," Dan put back with all the hesitation Chuck didn't have.

"I wanted to thank you," Chuck offered with his hand out.

Dan didn't take it immediately. He tried to defer, promised that "Anyone would have done it."

"But you're the one who did," Chuck didn't put the hand down, wouldn't until Dan shook it. Then he smiled, naturally, and Dan inched instinctively back away from it.

"I have something for you. In return for what you did."

"You don't have to give..."

Chuck waved the humility away. "Will you be home tomorrow?"

Dan was rendered speechless. He gave one look to his girlfriend as he nodded his head. Chuck didn't linger or make small talk. "What the hell is wrong with him?" Dan asked Serena once Chuck had left.

"He's..." Serena watched her former brother return to his date, caught the touches and tiny smiles... "giddy!"

"_Chuck Bass is giddy_," Dan repeated as he stared too. He even shuddered, only lightly at first but it grew when a more terrifying thought replaced the first. "Do you think he's going to want to be friends now?"

"You could use a boy friend," Serena started and then rephrased. "I mean a boy who's a friend."

"Couldn't I start small? Like with Charles Mason or something?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Prom is the traditional night to cement friendships that would otherwise disappear with taking of new lives, lament the mistakes of the past and celebrate the triumphs. It was a right of passage, a night when traditional enemies become friends, when friends cross the line to family and family cry to mark their new role. It all happened, swirled around the couple in red but it didn't touch them either. It was evident within an hour that they were more interested in one another. They kept their conversations between two, matching smirks surveying the others from their cocoon. Serena was allowed entrance, Dan stayed back after his first encounter with giddy Chuck.

Something else became evident as the evening inched towards its close. Blair was changing too. It went beyond the red dress to the way she let Chuck's hand fall too far down her back, too close to her side. She was permitting liberties she would have decried as exhibitions merely a year ago. Chuck remained hidden for much of the night, disappearing in plain view. He kept his head buried close to Blair's cheek. Those that attempted to speak, to offer well-wishes or congratulations, they soon learned his laughter didn't extend to them. That's why within two hours they were pretty well left to themselves. At three hours, when they disappeared beyond the punch table and through the far door, there weren't many left looking to see.

Blair and Chuck hadn't returned when the announcement came. The rest of their class had gathered at the front, waiting excitedly for the crowing of Prom Queen. The announcement of Blair Waldorf was met with cheers but not the party. That traded the crowd's cheers for murmurs. Ms. Queller called the name again, tapped her Prada flats when her prize student failed to materialize. She turned to the side and asked where Blair was. She didn't turn enough, the microphone caught her question.

"Her date is Chuck," Someone yelled from the back. "Check all bathrooms and broom closets."

That made Ms. Queller glare and Serena impatient. "Come with me," Serena started towards the back of the room, dragged Dan with her.

"Why?"

"Because we're going to find them."

"Because I want to get my ass kicked?"

"I thought you two were friends now," Serena arched a brow. "Besides Blair will be devastated if she misses her moment."

Dan had to defer to that logic.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Their mischief was half down when Eric and Damien made their way to the broadcasting booth. The DJ was in a corner, up a flight of stairs and ensnared between a full wall of equipment. He'd taken the place of the live band which has started the event and played for the first two hours. His job was to simply spin records for the last. "Here's a hundred dollars," Eric dropped a wad of cash on the table. "Take a song break."

The DJ didn't even turn his eyes to the younger boys. He watched the crowd gather below as the last cords of Lady Gaga died to nothing. The head of the school was standing behind a microphone. She cleared her throat as Damien tried next.

"Two hundred?" Damien threw another bundle. The DJ was unmoved until the fifth pile hit the table. Then he stood and calmly excused himself, leaving his equipment to the younger boys. They manned it at the announcement of King and Queen. Damien took the disc from his bag as Eric scanned the crowd below for his brother.

"Aren't you done?" Eric asked when the first few minutes ticked by.

"This is a little more complex than the five CD changer I have at home," Damien shot right back. He punched a few more numbers in frustration. Eric didn't comment again, leaned back instead. He pulled a stack of papers from his back, began to scour them one by one. "Are those the actual ballots?" Damien asked.

Eric nodded, bemused smile never leaving his lips. "I don't think they needed our help," He decided after he'd read the twentieth. He held up the twenty-first. It, along with the preceding all held the names Chuck and Blair. Damien traded amusement for a loud "yes" when the correct compartment finally opened.

"What were they going to play?" Eric asked as his boyfriend finally removed the disk.

Damien's eyes went down the playlist. "Taylor Swift."

"Never mind," Eric tossed the rest of the ballots in his bag. "They _so_ needed us."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck swore he used to be better than this, he used to be in control while the girl beneath him lost hers. He used to be almost impartial, able to control his response as he guided his way through the familiar moves, hit the right spots with his tongue and teeth. Except it'd been two months since he'd had anyone and six months since he'd had the one he wanted most. So when her skin flushed his did to, when she moaned his was close behind and somewhere between Chuck lost all his romantic ideals about the evening. He forgot about photographs, toasts and final dances in a bid to possess. "I rented the penthouse suite," Chuck whispered as her hands played beneath his shirt, followed the lines of his chest, the ridges and valleys of his stomach. His jacket was already lying somewhere on the floor, cummerbund having been lost as quickly.

"I don't want to wait," Blair promised with a need that reflected his, a turn of her smile that promised more than a few touches. She dipped her hands to the arch of his hip bones, traced them to the back and then pulled him flush. "I want you now."

"I like giving you what you want."

"Especially when it's what you want too," Blair's smile turned downright devilish as she inched backwards across the small space. She kept her hands to his ass as she moved, kept him flush to her until they hit the wall together. "Do you remember that time in my bedroom," She stared up for his response.

A quiver of Chuck's smirk proved he did. "Against the wall," He remembered as his fingertips began their own trail. They started at one shoulder blade, crossed the exposed collar to cup her covered breast. He didn't linger there, paused only until she pushed up, stole away his hand to her agitated mumble. He kept that hand to her side, travelled the full length of her gown before it turned upward again, bringing a handful of fabric with the returning journey. He pulled her skirt aside, the fabric of his pants taking its place.

When he pushed her full against the cement she turned her heels to his calves, pushed herself up as she pushed her hands down. She grabbed at his belt buckle, eyes flicking down only a moment before they returned upward. He pulled her higher, eyes soft but hands firm. It was the balance they'd ignored that first time. Then she'd been as afraid of his aggression as tempted by it, as comforted by his softness as lulled by the absence of other. Now she understood. The ideal was the balance between them.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Serena and Dan hit their phones in sequence, once more, just to check even though they had their answer one call before. The two ring tones sounded together, loud enough to carry through the coat check door. "Do you know Chuck and I once hid out in a coat check for three hours. At my mother's second wedding."

"Ah," Dan barely made the sound.

"We sipped cans of Coke and played Crazy Eights," Serena explained further.

"Think he's doing that with Blair?"

"I think you're going to be the one to open the door."

"And why?"

"Because I've already caught the show once. I don't think I can take a second." Serena promised with such sincerity that Dan's hand was on the knob before he'd fully thought it through. He tried clearing his throat as he opened it. It wasn't much help. The couple inside was progressed far enough to not notice. Blair was pinned against the wall, ironically exposing more of her thighs than Dan had seen in their many months together. Thankfully Chuck was better clothed, but Blair's fingers at his belt buckle implied that it wouldn't be a continuing trend.

It made Dan cough five times louder than he had to start, enough that both sets of eyes turned over. "Fu..." Chuck's expletive died as his eyes focused on the boy in front. Dan guessed he wouldn't curse out the boy that had saved his life. He didn't. He rephrased instead. "_Do you mind_?"

"Yes, but not for the reasons you think." Dan decided. He quickly added the rest before Chuck had a moment to return the sentiment. "You've been voted King and Queen, the entire senior class is waiting." Dan shut the door before they could even think on it.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck's head hit the the wall as he laughed, Blair dropped with less ceremony than she'd been lifted up. He had a half mind to suggest they skip it, the swelling in his pants not providing enough oxygen for alternative thought. Except when he looked down he could see Blair's excitement wasn't solely contained in the flush of her cheeks. She had her pocket mirror out before he could suggest either way.

"I'm such a mess." Blair said of her reflection. It was true. Her lips were smeared back to their pale pink, hair half hanging out of her elaborate coif. Chuck inched his fingertips up the back of her neck, pulled the last few pins to let her hair fall freely. It snapped around her shoulders, Chuck carefully untangling the loops until they fell straight. He let his fingers graze her cheek when he was done. It was a slow movement as his hand progressed downward. He dug through his pocket, pulled out a tiny set of wet wipes wrapped in plastic. It made Blair laugh, well laugh and then grab one because it'd do in a pinch.

"I don't even want to know why you always carry those around." Blair shook her head as she wiped the remnants of her lipstick away, folded the slip of cotton and leaning over to him, wiped away where most of it had gone. Chuck always had wipes: in his bedroom, the limousine, his locker at school.

"I don't like having dirty hands." Chuck explained simply. Blair froze for a moment, considered the hundreds of possibly replies that answer led her to. In the end she ignored them, watched Chuck button his silk shirt instead. It was the second time she'd pulled the buttons apart and she was determined it'd be the last without payoff. He flipped his red bow tie around his neck.

"Leave it like that," Blair said as she pulled the two sides beneath his collar, left the front dangling free. "Add this," Blair decided as she picked up his jacket, left the cummerbund behind. She slipped it over his shirt, didn't even pause to tuck it in again. She leaned back once, checked her handiwork and then undid his top button to match. "There."

Chuck put a disbelieving eye down, arched it back as he met hers again. She knew what he was thinking. It hardly fit.

"I'm sure I've had this fantasy before," Blair pursed her lips, playfully bit her the lower as she studied him. His eyes traced it, his lips moved to meet it but Blair had pulled the closet door open before he could reach it, left him with a mouth full of hair as she spun, pulled him with her as she left.

She didn't let him go until they'd reached the stage. She pulled him through the cat-calling peers, looking back once to see his smug smile. Chuck Bass always did like attention. Their hands unthreaded only so that Blair could put a hand to her crown, balance it while a junior pinned it to her thick curls. It was painted in silver, glinting under the rooms shifting rows of lights. Chuck barely noticed the added weight to his own head, his thoughts were taken back to another time and another crown. It was another chance to put things to right.

He whispered something about being the Queen of Diamonds, she flushed and remembered too. Her smile stayed as Chuck led her onto the floor, only dipped once the music started. Then her neurosis was piked by the guitar rift, the change from her established plan. Chuck's smile did the opposite. It grew because he remembered the song even before the first verse. He'd had to listen to it at least seventeen times before he and Serena had overtaken their younger brother.

_Say whatever you have to say, I'll stand by you._

_Do whatever you have to do, to get it out and not become a reactionary_

_To hurt the ones you love,_

_You know you never meant to but you do_

_Oh yeah you do_

_Be whoever you have to be, I won't judge you_

_Sing whatever you have to sing, to get it out and not become a recluse about your house_

_I know you never meant to but you do_

_Oh but you do_

_Still I need your sway, because you always pay for it_

_And I, and I need your soul because you're always soulful_

_And I and I need your heart, because you're always in the right places_

_And take whatever you have to take, you know I love you_

_Come however you have to come, and get it out and get it out_

"What the hell is this?" Blair finally asked.

"Eric," Chuck whispered into her collarbone, smirk bringing his lips flush to it. It made Blair exchange her glower for a smile as well.

_Take it out on me, take it out on my_

_I'll give you all, I give it you all, I give you all, yes I will give you all_

Those lips had disappeared somewhere beneath her hair by the time the dance slowed to a close. He could have looked out into the crowd with a triumphant smile. He didn't care to. He was far more interested in the the curve of Blair's neck and her quiet suggestion that they make this song their last. That's why, when he heard the cry of "Chuck...Blair," he glared as he reemerged from his chestnut blanket. When he saw the camera he would have been tempted to flip it off except behind that camera was the other person he loved best. So he smirked while Blair laughed and Eric captured the moment forever.

That's when Chuck knew for sure, some repeats of history weren't terrifying at all.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – so I was determined to have a chapter of only prom and no other storylines (since the whole spin off killed the prom episode on the show). I hope it was worth it. I'm working on the enhanced ending for this chapter and will post it before next weekend I promise :) I just want to take my time as it's a new thing for me, but I figured you'd appreciate having a post. And my internet has stopped working again so I had to upload this from a friend's house._

_Danzer – Yeah, I don't see Blair forgiving Nate easily. She's that protective of C after all. I don't see C having the same issues though because he does tend to just accept what other people do to him. That's why his realization with N here was important to me._

_Teddy Bear – Basically a year ago in this story is the Jenny-Asher-Eric party. Except in this version obviously Georgina didn't out Eric to his mom, but Eric chose to out himself to protect Blair. In this version Eric and Blair are much closer, and Eric was offended that Jenny called him a liar when he outed himself. I didn't like how the show just ignored that and had Eric inviting Jenny to the White Party after._

_Broodygirl – Aww, I love that I made you cry. My eyes actually welled a bit while I edited it even though I had those words written out from the very beginning of the story. They've been through so much._

_BrittyKay – I promise smut sometime this week :)_

_Sky Samuelle – I'm about halfway through the enhanced ending. I'll try to send you something in the next couple days but without internet it might take longer._

_OTHskater – Aww, thanks :)_

_Rhiwe – Okay, I promise smut sometime this week :)_

_oc-journey – I can see Vanessa and Nate working out but it depends on a few things. We'll see what happens between them. Nate truly does love her though but is that enough with him? Lewis becoming Mrs. Bass. That would be cute wouldn't it. Here's her own thoughts on the matter. "she had to sort things out because even if Bart was emotionally inept he was also smart enough to eventually get things right." Hopefully you'll forgive me for keeping this part T._

_Annablake – elephants feet is a little game kids sometime play at about 9 to 11. Bascially when you say the words "elephant's feet" your mouth moves the same as if you were saying "I love you." So at my elementary school the guys and girls used to say it to each other and then say "but i was only saying elephant's feet". I had images of Chuck doing that to Blair but actually saying "I love you" and keeping it up well into his early teens. It just strikes me as the kind of immature thing Chuck Bass would do because he couldn't actually deal with telling her the truth._

_Hey – :)_

_flipped – I think so too. I decided to include their first fight as a couple in this story and it's over a pretty serious issue. I just felt like I needed to show that all the shifts are genuine._

_CBEBIW trory – Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter without the smut :)_

_Up Next for the over 18 crowd: Chuck and Blair put that suite to good use._

_Up Next for everybody else: What kind of gift does Chuck have for Dan? Chuck and Blair babysitting???? (come on, you know I had to do it). Bart finally goes to the right person for advice and Lewis ties up some loose ends but at what cost?_


	62. Chapter Twenty Four Part Four

_A/N - This section includes slightly more mature content than the general theme of FTHEA._

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Part Four**

Blair stepped first into the room. The penthouse of the Plaza was enormous, spreading out to into every corner of the towering building. High glass windows dressed one entire wall, competed with elaborate draping to provide the focal point. The city lights washed off the fine furnishings that lay in an irregular pattern through the three rooms. Blair barely gave them a glance, was turned before she'd crossed even halfway through the first. She kept a slow movement backwards as her fingertips disappeared. They snaked behind her, unzipped the back of her dress as her eyes arched in mischief. Chuck stopped at the door, let only his eyes follow her game. She kept one hand in front as she finished, held up the bodice of her ball gown as she kicked the matching heels into a perfect pile of two. He waited but she didn't let the hand drop. She waited but he didn't tell her to remove it. So she turned once, slowly, enough to show the back of her black and red corset. When she turned around again her eyes were higher, her voice lower. "Do you want me to take it off?"

"I want everything off."

Blair let one side dip then, as slow as the smile that replaced it. She exposed just one side of her corset, the swell of one breast and then replaced the red fabric over the black. "Why?" She teased and he caught his breath. "Come here and tell me why." Chuck took the invitation, pushed off the thick oak door, ended beside her in three long strides. He didn't provide the answer she sought, just another dimension to the game. "Is it because I am alluring?" She suggested as she stared into his eyes.

"You are."

"Is it because you remember what it was to have me?"

"I do."

"Is it because you've fantasized about me?"

"I have," He admitted, put a hand out to graze her exposed collarbone. She pushed it away before it dipped lower.

"How long?"

Chuck smirked at that, stared hard before he gave his answer, put his lips to her neck as he did. "Since I first knew what it was to bury myself in a woman." The hitch in her throat proved he'd hit not just the right inch of skin but the right memory to make it unforgettable.

"Have you always wanted me?" Blair breathed as he moved around her, pressed his front to her back.

"Always," Chuck promised as he pushed a fistful of hair aside, bit lightly at her exposed shoulder. "Even when you were too innocent to know what that want was," He smirk crawled as his fingers went to her face. "When my stories spread a blush from your cheeks to the swell of your breasts," His fingertips trailed the thoughts, ran lightly over the band of fabric she clung too. "I wanted to know if the red spread deeper below."

"You wanted me then?"

"Always," Chuck promised again, ran his hands higher rather than lower, closed them around her neck and then down again. "Do you remember the sophomore mixer?" Chuck paused his hands as he waited for her nod. "Do you remember the little Asian who wore the same dress? You were all fire and brimstone that night," Chuck's smirk turned devilish. "Wanted to rip her to pieces."

"Would you have done it for me?" Blair whispered.

"I fucked her to pieces instead," Chuck said even though the truth made Blair tense against him. He bit harder into her shoulders, left a line of tiny teeth marks until her body settled flush to his again. "I made her leave the dress on my floor." He admitted as his fingers pushed her neck further aside, his right hand started a journey from the base of her jaw downward. "So I could pretend it had been your thighs I had pushed apart." He traced the break between her collarbones. "Your heat that I pressed myself into." His fingers met the fabric of her dress, pulled it downward without resistance. "You voice screaming out my name."

"Chuck," She gasped it into the air and he stepped away, turning around her body to stare fully. The flashes he'd caught between his fingers, with his eyes, they were nothing compared to the full presentation. Her bodice was black with bands of red silk woven through the waist. It was pulled tight through that narrow waist, ribbing pushing her breasts into two equal swells. The garter was interwoven, held two black stockings that were trimmed in thick lace. Her thighs emerged between, two perfectly creamy lines of white that pulled taunt as she bent forward.

She didn't permit him a detailed study, her fingers went immediately to his jacket, slipped to the white silk underneath each shoulder. She pushed until it fell to the ground, pulled at his buttons until she felt the skin of his chest beneath it. He kissed her as the slip of fabric joined its cover, slipped an arm below her legs and lifted her off the ground. He carried her to the neighbouring bedroom, placed her delicately across the lush sheets. She dragged at his hair to make him stay, whimpered when he pulled away still. He stood back from the bed, studied the vision left behind. Blair's hair spread out across the pillows, stark contrast of the brown to white as mesmerizing as the slow rise and fall of her breast beneath their confinement. Chuck paced once to the left, smirk never leaving his features. "Now it's your turn," He offered tauntingly.

"For?"

"Tell me when you wanted me Blair. Was it in the limo?" He teased because he knew. He'd had the thoughts put to writing. "When you bore down so delightfully on me? Or was it when you removed that Mayflower dress?"

"I want you now." Blair offered instead, pulled her legs up to expose the rounds of skin her thong didn't cover, let them fall open in invitation. Chuck didn't take it. He sat at the edge of the bed instead, put both hands to one foot and traced. He followed the line of her right stocking to end, unclipped it from the garter and rolled it down. "Was it when we were fifteen?" He suggested as he took the slip of fabric and tossed it aside. He laid her naked foot in his lap, traced his fingers along the arch before bending to kiss her ankle. His lips had progressed to her knee before he spoke further. "When Nate was at away at his grandparents and you'd had too much to drink. When Serena dared you to kiss me and you did." Blair's chest heaved deeper at the memory, eyes closing briefly to remember it. Chuck pressed his lips to her inner thigh before he drew back, eyes almost black in their intensity. "Is that all you wanted to do to that night?"

"No."

"Did you want to fuck me that night?" He asked and she nodded because the words failed her. "But that wasn't the first time was it?"

"No," Blair admitted and Chuck's smirk bore deeper. He progressed to the other leg, removed her other stocking with as measured movement. He let it fall to the ground as he bent forward again. This time he used his tongue to run a circle around each of her toes, sucked the largest when they curled with her back. "Tell me," Chuck insisted as she pulled up to meet him. Blair tried to kiss him but he averted his face, put his lips to her ear instead. "Whisper it in my ear."

"I..."

"Yes," Chuck closed his wide hands around her slender waist, pushed them together until the hooks of her corset began to fall free.

"Chuck...I..."

He ran a hand along the skin of her chest, inched it below her loosened clothing. He ran three knuckles across a hardened nipple before he pulled back in teasing, used that same hand to cup her chin as her eyes fell half closed. "It was when you were fourteen," He narrated when she could not. "When you first realized that I slept naked," His eyebrow rose and his lips wavered dangerously close to hers. "When the sheets didn't cover me and you wanted..."

"To know what it felt like to have you inside me," Blair finished and even though he had read it, the words put to her lips made Chuck flush through, a heat that trickled from the inside and made him pull more hurriedly at her last few stays. "That wasn't the moment," She swore and his fingers froze. He pulled back, stared with as much curiosity as arousal. "I was thirteen," She explained and his brow furrowed. "Do you remember when we watched Showgirls together?"

"When you let me chose."

"Do you remember when I leaned over, when I accidentally grazed you instead of the bowl," She arched a brow.

"That was no accident?"

"I just wanted to touch you," Blair said with all the innocence she must have had then. "To feel what you felt like," She admitted as her fingertips fell into his lap, traced the length of his arousal, felt him twitch beneath her touch. She withdrew her hand, waited for some kind of comment, some kind of reaction but for the first time in all the years she'd known him Chuck was struck speechless for the right reasons. "Have I finally done it."

"Done what?" Chuck asked as he bit his lip, turned his face to study his love again, looked for the something that was different. There was no subtle shift, her eyes were as playful, her mouth as naturally curving. There had to be a change. He had felt so differently when he realized it, that his love for her hadn't started in the back seat of a limousine or the fantasies of an oversexed boy. He'd been so sure it played out every way, across his face and through his words made harsher to hide behind. He was sure he'd changed fundamentally the moment he realized it. And maybe want wasn't love but it was enough to realize that she had felt something for him, through all those years.

"Rendered the great Chuck Bass speechless," Blair said it almost smugly and the realization that she had, it made him laugh with almost embarrassment. "I think I've always wanted you," Blair admitted as his eyes came back up and then he saw it. He caught the subtle changes in the brown depths. Maybe that truth had been woven through her journal, in the more than apparent concern or just the number of C's that very nearly matched his B's. It just had never been expressed as such. So he kissed her for the truth, too lightly for the moan that followed, one of both bemusement and agitation. "I want you now," She reminded him playfully so he kissed her again as playfully, deepening only as her hands went to his hair. She pressed him more tightly to her, crawled her body closer until his gentle kisses were traded for deeper. Then he plundered her mouth and she arched her back. He pushed her roughly back onto the bed, maintained the distance to maintain his sanity. She pouted at his withdrawal, half in actual frustration but mostly because she knew he couldn't resist her lip plumped by peevishment.

He didn't. He ran a tongue along the object, pulled back just enough to speak. "You are amazing Blair." He could feel the smile when he returned his lips.

"Make love to me."

The words brought a flash of a memory. Chuck couldn't help but reflect on the last time he'd tried to fulfil the request and ended locked behind a door instead. The thought didn't last long because he had finally completed the journey. He'd discovered not just what sex meant but remembered what love meant so that he could mingle the two and fulfil that single whispered demand. "Are you sure you're ready for it?" He teased against her lips, repeated himself when she called out yes. "Really?" He added as a third and she stole his breath away before he could offer a fourth, kissed until he teased with his tongue rather than his words. She met him with a force that would always equal him, pushed as hard as he pushed back, pulled with as much intensity and as deep a passion.

Drunk or sober, the first time or the hundredth, the first touch or the last, Chuck knew he'd never be free of this woman. She had tattooed every inch of his body with a whispered word but he never felt the pain until he tried to pull away. Then it dug into every single pore. So he did the same, but not with words but lips. He kissed every exposed inch, the base of each shoulder, the full length of each arm. He crossed her stomach and licked the underside of each breast. He bit her hip and lingered on her inner thighs. He worshipped every detail of her ashen skin, studied the sole freckle on one shoulder, kissed the indescribable scar at the base of one ankle twice. They built a slow burning fire even though they'd always been a raging inferno.

Their coupling reflected life, Blair pushing him forward and him relenting at last. She was naked from the start but he doesn't relinquish him own barrier until all of hers had been demolished. She screams out the first time with the guidance of nothing beyond his hands and lips. It was purposeful. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself when it had been six weeks since he'd touched anyone and six months since he'd touched the one he wanted most. There is a hint of embarrassment in her eyes when the glow leaves her vision and she sees him so unaffected. Except he isn't. The eyes show his enjoyment of every moment. They also redouble Blair's efforts to undress him, a task that is no longer a challenge. He relents and she wins but together they find the bliss they'd been chasing towards together.

He doesn't hear her next scream as they fell together to the bed, sweat mixing with breath, limbs intermingled with the remnants of clothing and whispered promises. Chuck doesn't hear anything, doesn't feel anything beyond the delightful rushing in his head. It was the kind he'd experienced a thousand times but never quite like this. It never washed everything else clear, never wiped away every single thought. He'd never felt this disconnected from his own body as if everything was swirling around him and he was just air and water. He'd never lost all sight, and sound and time just to have it gifted back with a voice as wicked as his own. "Again!" The command meandered through his subconscious like a distant chorus. When it crawled into his conscious, he rolled over, unredeemed smile matched only by one other. He pushed one of her legs to his other side, crawled his body across hers until their lips met again. He pulled back only once to give only one truth.

"You are a fucking minx!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Since I had several requests to repost this I decided to do an alternate version. It's a lot more PG and more to the general theme of my writing. I wanted to make sure we got to see C & B's first time after such a long and drama-filled journey. Hopefully this fulfils the moment ;)_

_And my hugest, largest, massivemest thanks to Sky Samuelle who betaed the first for me and whose encouragement is always delightful._


	63. Chapter Twenty Five Part One

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Part One**

_June 13, 2009_

_It was only six months ago that I thought my life was in ruins. That I set out on a new plot, a new plan, a new fairytale to put things to right. It seems like such a short time ago in everything but the experiences that fell between. Those experiences stretched enough for six years._

_For everything I encountered, for every occurrence I was forced through or chose to enter, for everything that I did and was done to me I have finally grown up. It didn't happen like all the story books swore it would, like a flash or moment when everything was clear and you garnered some sense of inner peace and maturity. Maybe that's true of others. For me it was more like a pulling away of chaos, a stripping of immaturity until all that was left was everything I had always had._

_Some mornings I still stare at myself in the mirror. It's not to find the flaws anymore. They're still there but they don't interest me anymore. Now it's to marvel at the change. I have grown into someone I hardly recognize, someone I doubted I ever would be. But it's there in the smallest ways. It's the hair that isn't perfectly straight, the eyes that are softer and the lips that now curve upward more often than down._

_I finally learned that fairytales are just that, that nothing in perfect, that while I can always do better it is best to appreciate what I do accomplish. I stopped taking ownership for the failures of others, stopped trying to see myself through their eyes or better judgments that remained unspoken. And in doing so I found something magical._

_I found myself._

_Blair Waldorf_

Chuck woke with a perfectly contented feeling from the base of his toes to the pit of his stomach to the curl of his smile which spread into the morning. The unfamiliarity almost made it disconcerting, it might have been frightening if it wasn't everything opposite instead. He put a hand out as his eyes opened, but the other side of the bed was empty and cold. He turned his head to see the sheets pulled aside, pulled himself up and propped an arm under one cheek.

Blair was in the other room but her voice carried. She was yelling at someone on the phone, discussion of fabric suggesting it was her assistant. It made Chuck sit upright, smile curling further in bemusement as his girlfriend ripped the other party to pieces. Within minutes Chuck decided he'd better never invite Blair to work for Bass. Within two he reconsidered. That kind of energy could always be put to good use.

Her cheeks were flushed red when came back into the room, slammed her phone on the nearest table more than once, kicked it for good measure. Then she looked over and some of her anger died. "Did I wake you?"

Chuck shrugged her question away, watched her try to calm with a sort of twisted enjoyment. "I know a way we could work out that aggression."

"Really?"

"Or put it to better use," His eyebrow crawled.

_"Really?" _Blair arched hers to match, knelt on the bed beside him.

It was a good plan until Blair pulled so at his hair so hard that even Chuck Bass had to wince. "Ow!"

"The copper heels were _five days_ late...," Blair ignored his complaint for hers. Her cheeks flushed as she led the rant, mesmerized Chuck so much that when she pulled again, harder than the first, he was more focused on her bottom lip. "...And the tic-tac eating brunette model, apparently the yellow I selected isn't her _correct shade_."

"So give her a Mentos, she'll be happy for days," Chuck teased into that lip.

It made Blair smile but only briefly. "Now I know why my mother always renewed her Valium subscription a week before showing."

"Maybe because her husband was too gay to provide the proper outlets."

Blair was stunned at first, not really sure she shouldn't be offended for her father's sake. She decided to throw it up and see where it fell, grabbed at Chuck's hair again, pushed him back onto the bed. "You think you can?"

"I always did like things rough."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Sometimes you wake up wrapped in the arms of the boy you love; sometimes you wake up to a shrieking fire alarm, open your eyes just in time to see a small ball of flame spread from a frying pan to overhanging kitchen towels. Vanessa had hoped for the first, but jumped because of the second. She dragged the yellow bed sheet with her as she ran, held it around her chest even though the blonde source of this mischief had already seen everything.

Nate was standing in the middle of her kitchen, face turning as white as the burning towels used to be. He froze stiffer as the burning cotton flicked at the corner of one cabinet. Vanessa grabbed the fire extinguisher and shoved him aside, covered the entire stove in retardant foam. The flames died quickly, but the thick smoke kept the the alarm running. Vanessa tossed the remnants of her favourite red frying pan into the sink and opened the nearest windows.

"What were you trying to do?" Vanessa asked as she waved her hand, tried to clear the apartment with a few sweeps.

"I was making you pancakes," Nate admitted with a wave at the counter top. "I wanted to wake you up with breakfast in bed."

The tray had already been prepared, tiny vase and red rose flanking a set of cutlery and dishes. It made Vanessa sigh in contentment. Even the mess Nate had left on the counter was endearing, three bowls covered in white batter and crushed blueberries. Then her eyes went upward and she saw the charred marks on the dark wood cabinets. It wasn't quite as adorable. "Next time use your credit card," She suggested as she wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezed him tightly.

"I just wanted to give you something back," Nate explained. "For standing beside me despite everything." Vanessa could feel the butterflies, the happiness that came with being appreciated. "I don't know if everyone else will forgive me."

"Don't say that," Vanessa pushed his chin up when it fell down. "If you just show yourself then they'll all love you like I do."

"You _love me_" Nate asked in surprise, brilliant smile replacing at least a few doubts.

Vanessa didn't repeat the sentiment, just stared up at the burnt corner of her plate cabinet. "I'd love a new cabinet," She detoured instead. "And lets try not to make that one from scratch."

Nate agreed with a shake of his head, grabbed her into a tight hug and repeated his own declaration from print.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck turned the cup of tea in his hand, studied the New York skyline through floor to ceiling windows. Blair had finally run off to tend to her duties. Chuck had gone home when she had, gathered enough books to overfill his school bag. He'd paused on the return journey, just a quick visit and a chance to study that skyline. It was nearly the same as the one from Blair's bedroom window. The thought made him smile rather than smirk, sip his tea a little faster than was his normal custom. Everything ran a little faster, every vantage a little clearer, every smile a little more natural.

"So you're doing alright?" Lewis had to ask as she joined him on the balcony. "You're looking happy."

"I am," Chuck admitted. He put a tongue to his cheek, eyes sparking something beyond what he could put to words. "It's just..."

"Unfamiliar?"

Chuck put a finger up, shook it at the side of his head. "Exactly."

"I think you'll get used to it."

"I just wish it'd taken me a week less to reach it," Chuck decided. "I'm sure I've tacked on another ten years to the unspoken Chuck Bass watch."

"I don't think so."

"I know so." Chuck insisted. "It'll take that long for _anyone_ to trust me again."

"And how about you?" Lewis asked. "Do you trust yourself?"

"I've learned not to be overconfident."

"And that's why I trust you." Lewis promised. It made him nod his head but she could tell he didn't believe, it played at his lips that stayed a little to firm to be reassured. Lewis considered, shook her head to clear a passing notion, kept it steady as the notion pulled through to idea. "Would you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"I'm flying to Montreal tonight. I have business that Aidan can not to be present for."

"Like?"

"It's nothing," Lewis dismissed the subplot for her main point. "Helga was going to watch my son but maybe you would consider watching him instead."

"You want me to babysit," He chuckled at the mere idea.

"It would be better to leave my son with family," She hinted.

"_Family_?"

"Just between you and I," She winked conspiratorially and he smiled fully. "So?"

"How could I refuse _family_?" How could he indeed? Perhaps her suggestion wasn't the most enticing of offers. It's not like he wanted to watch some brat for an evening. But the unspoken words were far more attractive. The fact that Lewis would entrust to him that which she valued most.

"You'll do great," Lewis promised. The easy assumption cementing his commitment.

He was three steps from the front of Lewis' building when the full magnitude of what he had agreed to finally cleared. He felt a temporary panic, the almost instinctive need to run back up the stairs (or at least take the elevator) and retract his offer. He almost did but then he caught sight of a bigger distraction. His father was ambling up the street, set of roses in one hand. Chuck couldn't help the smirk, Bart couldn't help the blush at being found out. "Still trying the flower bit?" The son shook his head in disappointment.

"Woman love flowers." Bart said smugly. He ought to be smug. He had enough experience.

"Lewis once told me that cut flowers are tedious, die quickly and are all in all wastes of time." That wiped the confident smile right off his father's face. Bart gave the flowers another look and then handed them to the first pedestrian to pass. "Listen dad, you're going about this all wrong." Chuck explained. "You need to try some Elvis or invite her out for sushi."

"I think I have this covered," Bart promised.

"If you say so." Chuck turned with some residual disbelief still showing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair walked around the full length of the show's second dress. A young redhead trailed her, measuring tape thrown over one shoulder and set of pins in one hand. She had to trail Blair because, truth be told, Blair had no idea how to sew. The redhead wasn't the only assistant in the room. Laurel, her mother's personal assistant, and by logical progression now her's, was standing to the side. Blair circled the dress four times, brow wrinkling further with each turn. "This is hanging entirely wrong," She decided at the end.

The redhead was petrified by the mere suggestion.

"It's fine," Laurel promised.

"No it's not," Blair turned an agitated glance to the older woman. "It's draped backward, it doesn't follow the illustrations at all."

"There are always variations from sketch to life," Laurel insisted.

"This is not my mother's design."

"It is," Laurel promised again. "Nothing is exact to sketch. _If you were a designer like your mother _then you would understand that."

"I know the difference," Blair snapped right back.

"I don't think..."

"Get me the sketchbook," Blair barked at the redhead, put her eyes to her personal assistant, dared her to contradict. The redhead scurried back and forth in record time, put the book into Blair's hands with more awe than Blair could convince the other woman to show. She flipped through until she found what she was looking for. "Do you see?" Blair arched her brow triumphantly, counted a total of three seconds before Laurel cracked. "It doesn't pay to argue with a Waldorf," Blair reminded her inferior, pushed the design book into the older woman's chest hard enough to make the point. "Now fix it."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart was pretty sure he'd finally landed her when the tears came. He hadn't spoken and Lewis couldn't manage to once he'd shown her the plans. Bass was about to redevelop her former group home into an entirely new building, complete with individual rooms and an indoor gym. Perhaps it was a bit much but Bart didn't mind the expense. It was as close as he could come to helping her family. The welling in her green eyes didn't stun Bart like the first time, it made the smile he'd had since she first opened the door turn wider, self-satisfied at its depths. When he cupped her chin he was certain he'd finally attained his right reward. Except he hadn't.

He went to kiss her and she turned her face away, pushed his hand lightly to the side. "That is not what I was looking for," Lewis said and he could have cursed. He was going to curse one of these days, gentleman or not. "It is so much more," She promised "but it's not what I need from you."

She hung there only a moment, wiped at her cheeks and then disappeared behind the door. When she did Bart decided he really needed to curse. He swore into the ceiling, brought his fists up and shook them angrily. He still had his hands closed with his eyes in frustration when he felt the kiss. It was a tiny slip, given so fast that by the time he opened his eyes again the giver had long since disappeared. Lewis' apartment door clicked beside him and Bart traded his frustration for bemusement. It wasn't much of a kiss, and he wasn't entirely sure that it _was_ her, except the nanny was apparently a lesbian and that perfume could only signify two.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck rang the buzzer, tapped his running shoes on the uneven pavement. He'd worn them for this journey, the amusing thought that they'd blend better than his Bertuli's. That he'd given it thought, it proved he was trying. He studied the gray building as he waited for the crackling enter, it was better designed than the two surrounding but better was always relative.

Chuck noticed the stains on the carpet in the elevator. It made him wrinkle his nose as the bell sounded, left behind the thought as he left the lift. He knocked on the door, hoped that Dan would answer. He wasn't as lucky this time. This time Rufus Humphrey answered instead. Maybe that was on purpose. Chuck's first test. He passed as he managed an incline of head to the older man's greeting. When he surveyed beyond the door he saw that all the Humphreys were home, Jenny drawing something in the living room and Dan sipping coffee in the kitchen. Dan didn't put his coffee aside until Chuck matched him at the counter, Jenny didn't even look up from her sketch pad.

"So," Dan offered as an opening.

Chuck hardly noticed, he was studying the far wall intently, noticing something he hadn't caught the first time he'd been there. "You know you have a garage door in your living room."

"Really?" Dan threw out in mock surprise. "Where?"

Chuck arched one brow, wasn't at all impressed. "Can we make this quick?"

"My sentiment exactly."

"So..."

"Yes..."

"Perhaps we could talk privately." Chuck suggested.

"Is it necessary?"

"Not for me, but you may prefer it."

Dan studied the other boy, pushed his coffee aside and stood. "Let's head behind that door."

Chuck actually chuckled as Dan opened it. How could you not? It was a garage door! He kept laughing until Dan pulled it down again. Then he turned far more serious. "I have something to share with you," Chuck started mysteriously. "But I need to know something first."

"You need to know a lot of things," Dan countered. "But I can't be your teacher."

"I may be yours," Chuck paused dramatically. "Once you answer my question."

"Like?"

"What is your intent towards my little sister."

"What?"

"You're not going to break her heart again are you?" Chuck angled his eyes dangerously for a moment. "Or try to screw her best friends. _Particularly_ _the best friends_."

"What! No! I love Serena."

Chuck took a deep breath at that. "That makes this so much easier," Chuck promised as he ran a finger down his blazer. "The thing is, if you're going to maintain the interest of a girl like Serena," here he paused and narrowed his eyes, "or _any_ girl really, than you're going to have to learn some new techniques. My little sister might have let it slip that you're lacking in the horizontal department." Chuck struggled to keep from smirking. He needed to show true concern.

"Excuse me!"

"Don't worry about it." Chuck threw his bag on the bed. "I brought some of my favourite books," he unclipped the front and dumped a large collection on the bedspread. "Consider it a refresher course." He started to sort them out.

"And who said Chuck Bass doesn't read."

"Just bear with me," Chuck dug through the pile until he found the one he was looking for. "This is the one that started everything for me. A fine piece of literature," he handed it to Dan.

"The Kama Sutra?" Dan shook his head. "I've read this!"

"_Apparently not in great detail,_" Chuck raised one brow. "That edition has excellent illustrations," he grabbed the book back from Dan and flipped a few. "There," He pointed to the nude couple on page sixty-two, handed it back to Dan so the other boy could study it in detail. "That is my personal favorite."

"I'm going to need therapy after this," Dan let the book fall with a thud to the floor.

"I can suggest a few counselors." Chuck said as pointed to the first pile. "This one will expand well on previous knowledge, _or lack thereof_." His finger went to the next set. "These ones are more specific: delaying ejaculation, the three types of orgasms and role-playing. And these last two are really just quick refreshers." He eyed them in depth, deciding to grab one back. "I really should hang onto this one."

"Please do!"

"There are sticky notes in all the important places," Chuck ran a hand down the side of one to demonstrate. "They're color coded: red for the things you _should_ _know already_. Yellow develop on the basics and the green, well," Chuck arched one brow, "_you_ probably won't need those for a few years."

"Couldn't you have just bought me a car or something?" Dan muttered peevishly.

"Would you like a car?"

"No!"

"This is better. After all, it doesn't just help you. This way I know my sister will benefit and I have my own vested interests in seeing my sister happy." Chuck closed his bag and prepared to leave, but then inspiration struck. He fished through the second pile until he found what he was looking for, held the pertinent section up. "This one will make her _really _happy," Chuck suggested with his smirk finally fighting free. "I made some notes in the index. Just to help out."

Dan let that book fall on top of the other, kicked them both under the bed as Chuck finally started to walk away.

I know this doesn't equal what you did for me," Chuck admitted as he went for the door . "But I'm going to pretend that it does, because owing you a favor, that just doesn't work for me." Dan was too speechless to answer either way. Chuck couldn't help the second chuckle as he pulled the garage door open again. "Oh, and just in case this _education_ doesn't help. I've already paid for your other," He finished as he disappeared behind the metal.

So maybe he'd titled Dan's trust the _Chuck Bass fund for undertalented writers_. Who cared? It'd still pay all four years at Dartmouth.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Waldorf Designs took three floors on one of the highest commercial buildings in New York. It wasn't near the penthouse, wasn't close to the street, just dangled somewhere in the middle; brass and copper sign greeting you at each floor. Chuck was waved immediately beyond the expansive glass entrance room, down a maze of small corridors until he ended in one of the many working spaces. It had a pedestal in one corner, a row of mirrors and several lines of clothing racks, each labelled and pinned for the coming show. Blair wasn't in the room when he arrived but Serena was hard at work washing the last remnants of makeup from her face. Blair had insisted Serena put everything on, that she be able to see beyond the clothing to the entire presentation.

"So where is she?" Chuck asked.

"She's talking with the designer," Serena replied to the mirror, replaced a matted face with a natural swipe of lip gloss. The deep breath came with the second slam from the far room. Serena saw her former brother's concern reflected in the mirror and decided to confide. "She's had a really bad day."

"More problems with the model?"

"That's part of it. Blair's doing really well," Serena promised, "but..." She tilted her blonde head to one side, didn't really know how to put the rest to words in a way that wasn't violating her best friend's confidence.

"But Harold and Roman are away and Cyrus knows nothing about fashion thereby leaving her pretty well alone."

"Exactly," Serena breathed easier to know he already understood.

"We _do_ talk about things you know."

Blair appeared then. The first thing Chuck noticed was the hair. It was pulled back but not with a typical band, just into a wide ponytail and the edges were damp. She'd been sweating and judging by the stack of papers in her hand her work was far from finished. Chuck was taken back by the vision. Truth be told, if you added a set of glasses and about twenty years with the pounds to match, it would have been Eleanor Waldorf reborn. "Are you alright?" Chuck asked first.

"Ask me after I neuter Laurel." Blair said as she threw the stack of papers on the table.

"As long as you're not looking to neuter me next," Chuck tried. It earned him a smile, a toss of her head and the tiniest relaxing of her tense shoulders.

"You know I'd never allow your most prized possession to be damaged."

"My most prized possession is my scarf," Chuck countered. "I think it was you who claimed that of my..."

"And that's my cue to leave," Serena extracted herself from between the pairs of roving eyes. "Dan is waiting for me anyway."

Chuck put a hand to her arm before she could. "You might want to give him a couple hours before you head round," he suggested. "Give him a chance to kickstart his summer reading list." That made Serena narrow her eyes. She might have stayed to ask questions but then there was winking and winking meant running for everyone else.

"What did you do?" Blair asked once the blonde had departed.

"Nothing," Chuck promised. "I just provided my guidance and expertise, well that and upgraded his reading collection from nineteenth century poets."

"Those books," Blair raised both eyes. "At the centre."

"Do you really think I would need the refresher."

"I've heard alcoholics sometimes have to relearn skills they mastered while intoxicated."

"Are you implying I've forgotten something important?"

"I'm not sure," Blair offered through wickedly pursed lips.

"I don't remember complaining any of the _seven_ times last night."

"I was tired," Blair manoeuvred. "I don't have a full recollection of the evening."

"Perhaps because I was _that_ good."

"I'm not convinced. I demand study further before I offer a definitive statement on the matter."

"I only have twenty minutes," Chuck said after a look at his watch.

"Twenty minutes?" Blair scoffed. "That's not even enough to prove what colour boxers you're wearing today."

"White."

"How pedestrian." Blair ran a finger to the belt of his tan pants. Chuck pulled back before she could inspect. "I demand you reschedule your other commitments."

"I can't."

"What could be more important than providing evidence?"

"Well..." Chuck began and then paused awkwardly.

That piqued Blair's interest, arms slowly crossing with his reluctance. "What exactly are you doing?"

"_I'm_ _babysitting_," He whispered in embarrassment.

Blair's entire face slacked through in surprise, a hand went to her chest and she had to swallow twice before she could form words. "Are you kidding me?"

"You would think so," Chuck shook his own head. "But no."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart ran the white napkin between his fingers as he waited. Candlelight flickered across the white tablecloth, danced around the restaurant setting for two. He was waiting on his companion, not the woman he'd like to be sharing dinner with but the one who would lead to that end. In the hierarchy of embarrassing, seeing advice from ex-wives came before seeking advice from sons. So when Lily glided in fifteen minutes late, a vision in white and gold, Bart stood and tossed his napkin to the table. "Lily," Bart welcomed her warmly.

"Bart," Lily returned his warmth with a smirk. She sat primly as he waved a server over, had her favorite glass of Chardonnay poured before her feet rested on the carpet. "You remembered," She teased as she studied the glass. "It's not drugged is it?"

Bart had to laugh and to see it come so naturally, that made Lily laugh too. "That would defeat my purpose in inviting you."

"Really?"

"How could I get information from you if you were unconscious?"

"Information?" Lily feigned surprise. "And here I thought you invited me for my delightful word play."

"It is delightful."

"Flattery?"

"I'll do whatever it takes."

"If you only did, then you wouldn't have needed to invite me for capers and Chardonnay." Lily promised.

"I've been trying."

"And failing rather spectacularly," Lily couldn't help but point out.

"Thanks Lily." Bart muttered peevishly.

"Anytime."

"So," Bart waited expectantly. He didn't put the question to words. He didn't need to. It was understood.

"Don't I at least get an appetizer before the inquisition?" Lily smiled innocently.

Bart snapped his fingers at the waiter.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Blair had a temporary flash, a short thought that Chuck had finally caught the part of Hollywood lead. He was reclined against the frame of Lewis Smith's apartment door, plain white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sleeves rolled up to expose two strong arms beneath. He was leaned to one side, left foot crossed over the right, smirk decorating his angular face to all the right proportions. The line of his jaw disappeared into his neck, brought with it the tiniest dusting of hair that proved he'd been too preoccupied to shave that morning. He looked the actor two months after Blair no longer cared about all that.

"You couldn't resist me for more than an hour. I guess that proves _my point_."

"The only thing I needed to prove was that you would actually babysit." As if on cue, Aidan toddled behind to prove the point. He pulled at the older boy's hand, not at all impressed to lose his playing companion. Then he spied Blair and decided his fun could be doubled. "Blair," The little boy spoke it perfectly, put his hand out almost like a gentleman.

It wiped away Chuck's smirk for a peevish turn. "How come he gets your name right?" Chuck mumbled.

"You mean you're not a duck," Blair teased as she took the little boy's hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" Chuck put a hand to her shoulder, stopped her before she could enter the apartment.

"Play tain?" Aidan asked.

"I'm playing trains."

"I didn't ask if I was allowed to have company," Chuck explained with his lip crawling higher.

"And this has stopped you before?"

"I wouldn't want to break the rules would I?"

"Come on Chuck. It's not like she's your mom or something." The moment she said it she regretted the choice of words, waited awkwardly for his reaction. It never came, at least not in the way she expected.

"Yet." Chuck teased right back and the statement made Blair arch her brow. It dipped down again as he stood between her and the apartment with his arms crossed.

Blair rolled her eyes. "Can I come in."

"As soon as you admit why you're truly here."

"Tain!" Aidan stomped his foot.

"That you're here because I am the master."

"God Chuck, could you be more of a narcissist?"

"Admit it. I'm the best you've ever had."

"Because I have a whole assortment of past flings to compare you to?"

"Just admit it..."

"Duck! Potty!" Aidan yelled between their chatter.

"Just a minute," Chuck promised Aidan as he leaned deeper into the door frame, smirked more freely at his girlfriend. "So...?"

"Chuck, when a child _that small _says potty..." Blair started knowingly. She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence before her prediction came true. Chuck turned just in time to see Aidan's perfect white pants transform before his eyes. Aidan looked down at the change too, little nose wrinkling up in disgust. He shrugged his shoulders like a tiny man as he looked up, offered an _oopsie_ in consolation. Chuck watched the yellow puddle spread slowly over the imported marble, face growing progressively paler as it did. Then he turned back to Blair with the most engaging smirk he possessed. "So glad you've come for a visit," He offered as he yanked her inside.

It was Blair that carried Aidan back into the living room a half hour later. Chuck had begged off, claiming that the instruction manual Lewis had left included bed times, meal times and a bold command to **not feed my son any candy **but held no mention of the fact that that same son sometimes peed himself. It was, therefore, beyond his realm of responsibility. Blair wasn't easily convinced, just easily humoured. She also had half a suspicion that if she left it to Chuck the kid would have sores by morning. So she bathed him, made Chuck hold the baby soap, was surprised when he took a turn to wash his hair. She pretended she didn't see him smile when Aidan pressed his wrinkled fingers to each side of Chuck's face and Chuck pretended he didn't hear her laugh when Aidan proudly announced that he had a penis. Apparently the green-eyed boy would fit right into the Bass compound.

When Blair reached the living room she laughed again though the reason was a different one. Lewis' room had been transformed into an enormous playroom, tables pushed to the corner and the largest wooden train track Blair had ever seen assembled into every free inch. There were roundtables, bridges, stations and tons of brightly coloured trains to run every inch. Aidan wiggled the moment they reached it it and Blair put him down, watched him rush straight for the smallest blue train.

"Did you buy the entire Thomas the Tank Engine factory?" Blair asked as she pushed aside a leaning tower of cardboard boxes to sit on the couch.

"There is a method to my madness," Chuck promised as he sat on the carpet. Took the red engine in his hand and ran it slowly along the track. "Chugga, Chugga, Choo Choo," Chuck started the game he'd been playing since two o'clock that afternoon.

"Dugga, Doo, Doo," Aidan attempted.

"Not quite," Chuck smirked. "Ch...ch...choo choo."

Aidan tried his best, ran the blue Thomas the full length of the track to calls of Dhugga. Chuck wasn't deterred. He kept at the instruction for yet another hour and at the end, to his amazement, Aidan managed what he'd been hoping for all along.

"Dugga Choo Choo."

Chuck jumped in joy, only once, despite Blair's mocking from the side. He held up his red engine for the boy's inspection. "Ch...Ch...Choo Choo," He instructed. Then he put a hand to his own chest. "Ch...Ch...Chuck."

"Ch...Ch..." Aidan started and Chuck's entire body leaned forward in anticipation of the moment. "Fuck!" Aidan said it clearly and all Chuck's enthusiasm was traded for dread.

"What did he just say?" Blair asked first.

"Fuck!" Aidan repeated himself.

The second pronouncement turned the dread to panic. "No," Chuck waved his head madly. "Not that. I'm Chuck."

"Fuck."

"Ch...Ch...Chuck!"

"Ch...Ch...Fuck!"

"Oh my god!" Chuck muttered in terror. He stared at Blair. It was too late. She'd already abandoned him for giggles.

"Not Fuck!" Chuck promised. "Ch...Ch...Chuck."

"Fuck."

"I'm dead," Chuck decided and even Blair stopped giggling. "Lewis is going to kill me."

"She won't. Kids make lots of combinations when they're first learning words."

"Fuck!" Aidan nodded his little head and Chuck could have cried.

"She'll know you didn't teach him that."

"I'm Chuck Bass!"

Blair paused a moment in consideration of that fact. "You're right," She decided. "You are _so_ dead."

Chuck closed his eyes once and happened on another plan. "D..." He smiled larger than he ever had before, pointed to get Aidan to focus on his lips. "D....Duck."

"Not Duck."

"Yes," Chuck promised. "D...D...Duck."

"Fuck!"

"No, I'm a duck."

"Not Duck."

"I'm a duck," Chuck insisted. "See," He pressed his knuckles under each underarm, waved both his arms and quacked as loud as he could. "I'm a duck." He traded his sitting for kneeling, put one foot in front of the other. "I waddle. I quack. I'm a duck!" Blair nearly fell off the couch with the force of her laughter. It didn't make Chuck stop. He went halfway around the room, tried his best to be the duck, waited for Aidan to reward him.

When Aidan opened his little mouth one last time, clearly and loudly called out "Fuck" it made Chuck fall on his face, throw out his arms and legs in final, torturous defeat.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lily pushed the last remnants of salmon mousse to the side before she parted with her information. Bart had tried entertaining her with small talk for the half hour that preceded. He never particularly liked small talk, he was more the type of man to dive straight to the point. Neither was he inept, business had forced him to mastery of social niceties. He could have done better but his attention was just a little too far afield to be amusing. Or maybe it was amusing, but just not in the way he'd attempted.

"The answer is very simple. It's time for you to put your mouth where your money is." Lily arched her brow until the meaning cleared. "And I don't mean to try kissing her again," She clarified just in case. "I won't be held responsible if she breaks your arm this time."

Bart nodded his head, slowly, and wondered why it was that woman always talked in riddles. "Lily..." He started doubtfully but she had anticipated him.

"I'll be more succinct," Lily said. "I'm such an apology would be appreciated,. A thank you wouldn't go remiss, but what Lewis really wants....is to know that you like _her_."

"She thinks that I don't like her?" Bart muttered in disbelief. "Would I be sharing wine with my ex-wife if I didn't?"

"You've dropped the _cheating whore_ disclaimer."

"I'm _trying_ to suck up."

"Don't bother. Humility doesn't become you." Lily assured him.

The candidness with which she said it, the perfect timing and arching brow that accompanied it, that made Bart remember what it was that he so adored about Lily. It reminded him of the wit that would have made him an amused husband for years. Though, in hindsight, he was glad it didn't.

"Listen...Lewis is afraid that you only want her because you want to hammer her into the missing hole in the center of your family puzzle. No one wants to be forced where they don't belong."

"She doesn't want to be part of my family?"

"No, she adores Chuck," Lily promised. "All she wants to know is that you like her for the person she is. So...do you?"

"Yes."

"Thank god," Lily flipped a handful of hair behind her, raised her wine glass in mock celebration. "So you're sure you've got what you need to do? Do I need to write it out?"

"I think I'll be alright."

"Thank god again," Lily hide her smirk behind that same glass. "Because I was about two days away from hiring a billboard."

Bart took a sip of his own wine at that, decided that having Lily as a friend might prove useful. "Do you think you could mention the perfume to her?" He asked with as much charm as he could assemble.

"Are you paying or am I?" Lily gave rather than an answer. Bart took the slip and she took her leave.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck ran his fingers along the arch of Blair's foot, pressed and turned until the tension dissolved away. Blair murmured her appreciation as she crossed out a section of her speech and rewrote it. Aidan was finally sleeping soundly in the next room, put to bed after an hour of exhausting attempts. When the brown curls had taken the third run around the living room, that's when Chuck understood the no candy clause.

His calculus text lay abandoned to the side. Blair had written her entire set of graduate exams in the first week of sitting. She'd made arrangements for some, determined to leave this week free to focus on the Waldorf show. Blair could have chosen to show two weeks earlier, a month later. She didn't. She chose to show on a Thursday evening, two days before graduation. It could have been reckless except she chose the day for a particular reason, it was her mother's birthday.

Chuck had two remaining exams but he was more interested in making a study of Blair's coloured toes. They were dressed in two shades of purple, a lighter undertone with several decorative spots of dark. It was another hint of their commitment, a multitude of almost unrecognizable signs that formed a full picture only in reflection. He ran his fingertips along each, losing interest only on the ninth. Then his eyes went upward, head tipped forward to see what she had wrote.

"Chuck!" Blair snapped and pulled her paper further to the side. He smirked and she glowered, pulling herself from their shared sofa to fall onto a chair further away. "No reading," She admonished with a tiny peak above the ruled pages.

"Just one?" He countered.

"None!"

"_Please_," Chuck rolled his eyes playfully. "We all know that my valedictory speech will be better anyway."

"I highly doubt that."

"I thought you were enamoured of my writing style?"

"It was the surprise."

"That's really all?" Chuck put a finger to his cheek, rubbed thoughtfully. "Would you like to make it interesting? Place a little bet on who will have the better address?"

"You'd lose."

"You always say that," Chuck admitted. "And yet I usually end up winning."

"What are the stakes?"

"If you win then we'll purchase an apartment off campus at Yale. But if I win, then we'll rent one on."

"_You_ want to live _on_ campus," Blair couldn't hold back her surprise.

"Perhaps I got a taste for the life at Stanford," Chuck admitted. "Besides the family dorms at Yale are quite exquisite."

"And you know this because?"

"It'd be better if you'd didn't ask," Chuck promised and Blair trusted him enough not to. "So," He arched a brow, waited for her commitment. The front door bell broke before she could. "Think about it," He suggested as he put his feet beneath him, left her with the question. He knew she'd say yes. She never could resist a challenge.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart had the speech rehearsed, was emboldened by final understanding as much as the half bottle of wine that had preceded his journey. He stared down both sides of the carpeted hallway, content that it was as empty as that morning. He pressed the flowers forward as the door opened, curse replacing softer greeting when he realized it was his own son standing behind it. Chuck took one short look at his father, one long look at the flowers he held in his hand before shaking his head in disappointment. Bart dropped the orchids immediately. "Force of habit." He explained.

"She's not here," Chuck offered before his father was reduced to asking. "She's in Montreal."

"And you're?"

"Babysitting," Chuck admitted to yet another shocked stare, and because he pitted his father Chuck explained further. "Lewis said it would be better to leave Aidan with _family._" That turned the stare to something more mystified.

"Chuck, who is it?" Blair bounced up behind her boyfriend, wore a smirk to match when she caught the answer to her question.

"My dad came by to visit," Chuck explained with a knowing glance backward. "Second time today I believe." The reminder made Bart squirm.

"Hello Mr. Bass," Blair's smirk grew as she wrapped her arms around Chuck from behind, presented quite the darling picture for the older Bass.

"Here," Bart gave her the unneeded orchids.

"Your father bought me flowers?" Blair said in the softest voice. She feigned the adoration even though she knew they weren't really for her. She pulled away from Chuck to study the petals in detail. "When was the last time you bought me flowers?" She teased the younger.

"Two days ago," Chuck clipped just slightly. Blair offered a tiny smile, then doubled it as she started at the rich red flowers. "Would you like me to order some now?" Chuck offered and her smile spread even further.

"No, that's fine," She promised with a kiss to her boyfriend's cheek. "I'll just go put these in water." She waved her hips twice after she turned, Chuck was staring long enough to catch both.

"Try back tomorrow," Chuck offered without looking back. His tone was wistful, his expression one Bart had never seen dress the son's features before. It made Bart shake his head as the door closed, left him half convinced that there must be something wrong with the world when his eighteen year old son could get things right first.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis Smith's first boyfriend wasn't living in squalor, but it wasn't far from it. There was junk piled in one corner, two couches that didn't match and a carpet that once upon a time might have been white. It blended with the man himself. William was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and loose fitting tank top. He dangled a beer in one hand, what had been a few tattoos at seventeen had turned to two fully inked arms. He was two missing teeth short of a caricature.

Will eyed her from the feet upward, studied her black stiletto heels and skinny black jeans, the cashmere sweater that hung nearly to the knee and covered every inch of skin. It didn't help. He still lingered in a way that creeped out every inch of her. "Little Lews grew up," Will arched his brow and took another drink. "And how you've grown," He took a slower look down again. Lewis crossed her arms in front. She could feel the nausea return to her stomach, took solace in the fact that she'd already emptied the contents of her stomach in the taxi. She'd blamed it on lingering air sickness. "Spit it out. Why are you here? I know it's not to reminisce."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – Please REVIEW!!!! (am dying to hit 700). Oh and I apologize for the flagrant overuse of the f word but I think it was worth it. _

_annablake – I agree with the whole" Chuck Bass deserves better" as summing up this fic because it's all about replacing genuine self-esteem for feigned one. I think he'd still fall back into friendship with Nate but I don't think they'd ever be as close as they were before._

_Oc-journey – I'm almost feeling sympathetic with Nate too. I find with him he'd hard to really hate for his shoddy behavior because he's just a narcissist who never got the right principals. Let's see if V can change that trend._

_Sky Samuelle – I doubt C and D could ever become best friends but I could see them as more distant friends or close acquaintances. Yeah I'm proud of C for building up that self-esteem._

_BrittyKay – Yeah B is pretty protective of C (with good reason). It's pretty mutual though as you'll see._

_CBIWBJ trory12 – Hopefully you enjoyed C's gift. It's the gift that keeps giving after all._

_Flipped – I think D&C could have a good but not close friendship. I think they clash too much in essentials to really be close (at least from D's POV) but I think they'd make good regular acquaintances and I think in this fic C prefers S to be with D because I think he recognizes he's a good influence in her life. The essential thing is that they both need to get beyond the assumption that they're each better than the other first though but in this fic they will ;)_

_Up Next – And then there were two....The Eleanor Waldorf show brings fights, faceoffs and new friendships. Chuck and Blair enlist personal armies to win their competition. Who's your money on? Oh, Bart and Lewis...yeah, well..you'll see. _


	64. Chapter Twenty Five Part Two

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Part Two**

William Marsh pushed his feet a little further across the table, looked at the paper and pen Lewis dangled from manicured fingers with nothing beyond amusement. She didn't let the hand drop, jaw going firm with his delay. If someone had held a mirror in front, she'd have been shocked to see how much she resembled her fourteen year old self. Perhaps it was fitting for that moment. No matter her fear at being here, her hand didn't waver and her resolve didn't crack. It had to say something that her Stanford dreams weren't enough to try for a confession but her family dreams were.

"You want me to tell the truth?" Will smiled as he reflected her words. "_In writing._"

"You and I both know what happened. I need you to fess up."

"Why would I?"

"There's no reason not to. You've already served your time."

"I heard you did too," Will's smile turned to a smirk. "Though you got out early for _good behavior._ When was my little Lews ever _that_ good?"

"It was twenty years ago," Lewis reminded him. "It's too late for them to charge you for anything you did to me."

That narrowed the man's eyes considerably, turned his amused pleasure into something far more menacing. "You think that's the reason I wouldn't help you? You sent me to jail bitch!"

"And you send me," Lewis reminded him. "At least you were there for a reason."

William took another sip of his beer in contemplation, smug smile reappearing and disappearing as he swallowed. The satisfaction he felt in his triumph was evident. "I always wondered why they believed me over you."

"Just tell the truth."

"Did you really not know?" Will asked for clarification. It was a genuine question. Maybe she should've guessed, maybe she would have known if she thought hard enough. She never thought first in those days. "Sure you didn't like it just a bit?"

"Before or after you held the gun to my head? After you'd already shot someone!"

Will shrugged his shoulders undisturbed. "Please, it was a flesh wound, barely a step up from a shot in the ass. And, if I remember correctly, you always were kinky."

"And you were always psychotic."

"If you'd just driven the damn car when I told you to then I wouldn't have had to do it."

"It's the past," Lewis took a breath, left it where it needed to stay. "But it's ruining my future."

"You think I care?"

"I know there's a part of you," She countered. "That wants to do the right thing. Tell the truth. You were never all bad."

That made Will laugh aloud, two little chuckles that died as he put the bottle on his wood coffee table. "Why don't you go first?"

"What?"

"How much was it?" Will studied her face. "I was thinking with the payout from the accident, the house your parents owned and him being a doctor and all. I figure it had to be at least $700,000."

"One million dollars," Lewis admitted. It could have been more but her father was still young, loans competing with medical bills for her grandmother, and the police were inclined to believe the accident was more her father's fault than the other driver's. Apparently she'd got more from her parents than a name.

"And you don't like to share?"

"I couldn't have touched my trust until I was eighteen," Lewis promised. "There was no way I could have helped you."

"Well you definitely didn't help me," He leaned back once more. "But this little librarian act is entertaining me, so..." He held his hand out for the sheet, dropped it the table once she passed it to him. He scrawled out a quick statement, raised his eyes at the end. "Still hung up on the bad boys?" Will leered as he signed his name.

Lewis could feel the bile rise up as his eyes dipped down her full length, his hand going to her behind as she pulled the paper from between his fingers. "Nope!" She said as she quickly read the sheet, other hand going into her purse.

"That's too bad. This probably won't be pleasant than, at least for you." His smile returned to menacing as his hand closed to a fist around her flesh.

"Let me go," Lewis said as she exchanged paper for plastic, ran her fingertip along the cylinder in her purse.

"You really think I was going to give you what you wanted without getting anything in return?" Lewis hadn't. She wasn't stupid. She'd read his file in depth. "You're as naïve as you were at fourteen."

"Not quite," Lewis countered as she pulled the mace from her purse, sprayed it across his face until he was reduced to a screaming, cursing mess. "Payback's a bitch ain't it," She said as she lifted her foot and using all the force she possessed kicked him once right where it hurt, screaming as much in anger as her own resulting rip.

It's why she'd worn the stilettos.

She nearly stumbled as she regained her footing, didn't stop to consider the reason why but pulled her purse tight to her arm and ran unevenly through the tiny apartment. Adrenalin coursed through her veins, urging her to push further, to punch at the numbers for the elevator until she heard the ding. She collapsed inside, slid down the metal box as the first wave of pain replaced the last of nerves. She tried to hold back the tears but it was an impossible feat when the second wave hit, an excruciating curl that stole her breath and had her grabbing instinctively at her ankle. When the bell sounded she tried to stand but only managed to tumble over to the other side. She tested her right foot on the floor one more time, resulting explosion of pain proving that had no chance to bear weight, was left wondering how she'd done it at all. So she resigned herself to sitting as the tears ran lines down her still youthful face. She threw her head against the metal and took out her phone, started to key the emergency numbers when she heard the voice. It made her freeze, narrow her eyes and look up slowly.

"Are you alright Miss?" The voice offered. It belonged to a man as tall as her ex, as strong but this one wore no tattoos but just a concerned smile.

"No."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was at that delightful place when he felt the first tug at his arm. He was lying in a field with endless white flowers, tall green grass and Blair. She was dressed to match in floaty fabric, face curiously clear of all but the natural glow that accompanied her laughter. In his dreams Chuck was always a romantic. The tiny hand pulled him again, dragged him back to consciousness. He tilted his head to the clock; the flashing 1:00 burned his bleary corneas.

"Fuck?" The little voice offered.

"My sentiment exactly," Chuck promised as he looked down. Aidan was standing beside the bed and Chuck took a quick glance to see whether his pajamas were still dry. He breathed out in relief once he was assured _that_ was not the problem. "What's wrong little guy?" Chuck whispered so as to not wake the sleeping beauty beside him. Aidan didn't say anything. His green eyes just crawled wider, little lip quivering under the light of the hallway. "Did we wake you up?" Chuck smirked downward. Aidan little lip quivered move. "I wasn't hurting her. I promise." The smirk died when he remembered something else. He chased it clear. The kid would have been too young. Aidan shook his little head furiously, whimpering building beneath the quivering. "Are you scared?" Chuck guessed, shifting to the side of the bed to run a hand through the little boy's curls. Blair shifted in turn beside him.

"Mommy," Aidan pronounced clearly.

"Your mommy is on a trip," Chuck explained with another swipe of the curls. "She'll be home tomorrow."

Aidan puckered his lips harder at that, whimper building loud enough that Blair put her head up behind Chuck's shoulder. "Mommy. Where mommy?"

"Has she ever left him overnight before?" Blair mumbled into Chuck's back, hair falling across his shoulders.

"Where mommy go?"

"She went on a plane," Chuck explained. He even made a little take off motion with his hand. That was definitely a wrong move. Aidan's entire face screwed up at the sight, whimper traded for an outright cry; tears traded shortly thereafter for a shrieking scream. It had both Chuck and Blair scrambling to sit up. Chuck pulled the boy up first, sat him on the bed between them. It didn't help halt the shrieking. "Mommy no go."

"She went on a trip."

"Mommy no go bye-bye!" Aidan fisted his hands into Chuck's chest hairs, pulled hard enough that Chuck winced. He regretted giving Blair his pajama top after the second pull. "No bye-bye."

"She'll be back tomorrow," Chuck promised.

"He doesn't understand that Chuck."

"When you wake up," Chuck tried as the little boy shook his head harder, faster, with more determination.

"Mommy no go bye-bye." Aidan screamed so loud that Blair covered her ears, waited a moment and then put those hands to Aidan's back, rubbed small circles from one tiny shoulder blade to the other. It helped a bit, turned the shrieking back to crying. He crawled his little body up Chuck's, rested his little head beneath the larger boys. "No, no, no."

The reprieve was short-lived; barely long enough for the two to think of a solution before survival instinct took over. Blair muttered something about 'never having children' as they passed the little boy back and forth but he wasn't impressed by either. He kept screaming out 'Mommy no go bye-bye' and somewhere between quivering lips and fisted hands they guessed it wasn't the typical separation anxiety. "Do you think he remembers?" Blair asked it first. "Last year?"

"He was only thirteen months old." Chuck said. That was too young. Or maybe Chuck just needed Aidan to not remember. He didn't want to be responsible for this.

"You should call his mother," Blair decided as Aidan whimpered for Lewis again. She leaned over the bed and handed Chuck the cell. He took only a cursory glance at the clock as Aidan regrouped for his next fit.

Thirty minutes and seven calls later and both Blair and Chuck were finally convinced that Lewis was not going to answer. They'd shifted roles, Aidan moved to sitting in Blair's lap, force of his tears having long since turned his skin to a blotchy red. Chuck's head ached. He put a hand through his hair again; let it drop forward before he hit the two on his cell rather than redialing Aidan's mother.

"Chuck?" The voice at the other end of the line was half asleep and far from amused. "Do you know what time it is?"

"I have a problem."

"It better be a big one," Eric said.

"Aidan is too freaked out to sleep."

"I would be too if you were my babysitter."

"Droll," Chuck spat back. "Blair and I..."

"Blair is there too? I wouldn't sleep for a week."

"Are you done?"

"Umm...I think so."

"We need help."

"Because I was a nursemaid in a former life?" Eric said before he could catch himself.

"We're desperate," Chuck admitted. Then, as if to solidify the point, Aidan let out another shrill cry.

"Wow!"

"He's missing his mom and we can't get a hold of her." Chuck winced through the latest round of shrieks.

"I'm never having children," Blair yelled her earlier declaration.

"I'll take any ideas you got," Chuck swore. "Before Bass Industries is left without an heir."

"Got a pen? I'll Google it."

An hour later and the bed was littered with board books, stuffed animals, even the spray bottle they'd attempted to chase away monsters with. Chuck had a sinking suspicion they'd just provided Aidan with another reason to be petrified. They'd run through the little boy's bed time routine four more times, given him enough baths to wrinkle each of his baby fingers. At least he wasn't screaming anymore, just whimpering in the middle of the bed, sippy cup holding more than a sip of warm milk.

They'd turned the hallway light back on, enough to barely light the room and do away with any darkness fears. It illuminated the little trio, Chuck had propped his pillow behind his shoulders, Blair was lying against hers studying a set of green eyes with her brown. She ran her pointer finger down a tiny nose, got a long overdue smile to match hers. She closed her eyes in feigned sleep, opened them briefly to see if Aidan had followed her lead. He hadn't. He was just staring back at her.

"What else did he say?" Blair asked once Aidan started to grab at her hair again.

"He said for you to sing a lullaby." Chuck offered as he pulled the little hands away. "No hair," He said firmly.

"Me?"

"Everyone knows that's the woman's role."

The uncontrolled hiss of an exhalation told Chuck the statement was unwelcome. "Unlucky for you my Polish is rusty."

"Dorota?"

"Did my mom seem like the singing type?" Blair asked. Chuck didn't answer. It was rhetorical. Neither did she mention the other truth. That his mother _had_ been that type. Aidan sat cross-legged again, rubbed at his tired eyes and began the whimper. It was the whimper that led to the crying that lead to the outright screaming.

"Chuck..." Blair tried a whimper of her own. It was almost convincing enough but not quite. The tide wasn't turned until Aidan crawled over to Chuck and buried his little head into the crook of the older boy's arm. Chuck put the hand out instinctively, kept rubbing long after the instinct passed. He sang then, while Aidan snuggled closer, began in a whisper that gained momentum as the tears of the little boy on his chest lost theirs.

"Hush-a-bye,

Don't you cry,

Go to sleep-y, little baby.

When you wake you will see

All the pretty little horses.

Chestnuts and Bays, Dapples and Grays

All the pretty little horses.

Hush-a-bye don't you cry

Go to sleep-y, little baby"

It took only three recitations before Aidan's breathing evened to a slow, steady rhythm, eyes closing at last. Chuck put a kiss to his head when it did, moved him as gently as he could to lie in the middle of the bed. "We did it," He whispered to Blair as Aidan settled into the mattress, sleep returning a calm easiness to his features.

Blair didn't answer at first; she was too enraptured by the tiny vision in front of her. She looped one finger around a brown curl; let it fall back against the pale skin. She stared across at Chuck, smile playing at her features, all their hours of frustration melted out with a single success. "You did wonderful," Blair promised as she cupped his cheek; let her hand fall back into their divide.

"Weren't so bad yourself Waldorf."

"Maybe you could teach me that song," Blair suggested. "In the future. _Way far_ into the future."

"I thought you didn't want to have children."

Blair rolled her eyes and pressed her head back into the pillow. She stared into the ceiling while Chuck stared at her. "I don't want to have only one child," Blair decided at last.

"Because if we have two, we're guaranteed at least one Eric for the Serena?"

That made Blair laugh lightly, not loud enough to wake the toddler between them. It had died to nothing when she added the true reason. "It's lonely being an only child."

Chuck didn't say anything but he knew that too. He just watched and after a few more moments her eyes finally turned to met his. She smiled as they did. "I'm thinking three children." The idea made the little flutters start at the base of Chuck's stomach. It wasn't dreams of brown eyed children but the fear of being father to them. That's why her smile spread and his stayed still. He stared to let his fears dissolve somewhere inside her brown eyes, leaned over and kissed her once they were gone.

"I love you Blair."

"I love you too Chuck."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck had Aidan perched in his lap. Despite the lack of sleep on both sides, the morning had returned both to better spirits. They'd reworked the town of Sodor, read no less than seven books and Chuck was almost starting to feel confident with the little guy. Everything was good except for one lingering problem. It was the one that lead to this placement, to the little feet that were kicking irregular patterns into Chuck's lower back. Chuck didn't notice. He was engaged in a battle of wills; the two pairs of eyes starting intently at each other, brown battling green. Chuck moved his lips extraordinarily slow. "Ch...u...ck"

"Fuck."

"Chuck"

"Fuck."

"Chuck is fucked."

"Fuck is chucked."

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"You got kid me!"

"Ch..........u..........ck."

"Fuck."

Chuck threw his head back into the sofa as he heard the door open. "It isn't working," Chuck yelled as Blair emerged from the hall. "What else you got?" Blair fished through her purse until she found the lollipop. She presented it to Chuck. "That's your plan B?"

"It's better than yours," Blair countered.

"I thought blaming everything on _you_ was brilliant."

"Because I swear so much?"

"Well," Chuck's smirk appeared again. "There are times..."

"Just take the lollipop."

"He's not allowed candy."

"It's not candy. It's a sugar-infused gag," Blair arched her brow as Chuck gathered her meaning. She held out the candy again, waited for him to take it. She had another five in her bag to last the morning or at least the handover. Chuck didn't take it until the bell sounded. Then the panic had him ripping the plastic wrapper and shoving it unceremoniously into the youngest's mouth. Aidan's little green eyes rounded full once the first layer of sugar dissolved.

"She's an hour early," Blair checked her watch as Chuck waved her to the door.

They should have thought it through. When would Lewis knock at her own door? Blair returned not with a slender blonde but a portly brunette. Helga was carting a suitcase even though she was supposed to be enjoying a four-day weekend. Chuck exchanged a glance with his girlfriend. It was enough for Blair to draw closer to the couch. "Did Lewis miss her flight?"

"Miss. Smith is in hospital." The thought alone had Chuck jump up, Blair taking the tiny boy from his arms. "She needs MRI this morning."

That drained all the blood from Chuck's face. "What happened?"

"An MRI on the ankle," Helga explained and Chuck could breathe again. "She already have a sprain and she make it worse. She will come back in two or three days."

"I could stay a few more days," Chuck decided.

"Miss Smith says you have exam tomorrow. I take care of Aidan." Helga explained and then her eyes caught something. A tiny stick hanging out of her charge's mouth. It made her eyes narrow. "Miss Smith does not like candy," She glowered at Blair as she pulled the stick free.

Aidan whimpered once it was gone, stared at the other boy and cried out. "Fuck!"

Blair grabbed the lollipop, stuffed it back into the youngest's mouth and gave a glare to match the older woman's. "We don't need to mention this to Ms. Smith."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck brought an enormous bouquet of flowers when he visited his girlfriend at her design studio. Blair still called it her mother's but Chuck had made the transition to calling it hers. She didn't correct him when he did. That must have significance. He carried their familiar arrangement to the back; calla lilies, yellow daisies and red roses greeting her before his face could appear from behind them. When it did, and he caught sight of her face he felt guilt. Their babysitting adventure couldn't have enabled her more than three hours sleep as the lines under her eyes attested to. She had them expertly covered but Chuck looked deep enough to see beyond the washes of white.

Once he truly saw her, that's when he shut the door. She was running her fingers like mad on the table, staring at the fax machine with something akin to fury. "Another bad day?" He guessed. It was enough to start a shiver in her spine, made her spin the machine a single time on its turntable.

"I hate this thing," Blair decided.

"Something I could send for you?"

Blair shook her head. "I'm waiting for a fax."

"About?"

"The seventh dress, the one with the fur-lined collar." Blair tossed the sketch at him. "My fur is being held in customs. Who the hell quarantines fabric?" Blair spat at the ceiling more than him. "What are they expecting a few meters of ermine to do? Spread the bubonic plague?"

"Come here," Chuck put a hand out. Blair didn't take it, just muttered angrily, wiped at her eyes even though she'd hadn't cracked enough to cry. "Just come here," Chuck repeated and grabbed at her arm, pulled her from the chair, near enough to face her frustrated eyes. They stretched wide from the closer vantage, two circles of brown that washed with water she'd chase away. "You can cry in front of me you know." Chuck had to point out. It made Blair smile because, really, wasn't that what she had wanted from him all along? She didn't cry though, not until he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. Then she leaned into his cashmere sweater and ruined every inch.

It didn't bother Chuck. He guessed that some days she needed to bite at his shoulder and at others she just needed it there.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"In three days to the minute your life is going to change," Dan decided with a look at his watch. Serena was curled in his lap, remnants of their picnic put away, blanket still laid out beneath. It was striped in red, orange and green, formed a coloured backdrop to her white summer dress and his white and black collared sheet.

"You mean once the critics pan me?" Serena teased.

"Not what I meant," Dan promised with a kiss to her forehead. "I meant the moment when everyone else loves you."

"How can you be so confident?"

"Because I already do. And I've got good taste." He rubbed his girlfriend's arms. "So are you nervous." Serena shrugged her shoulders but the truth still played. "You'll do wonderful. You're run off to Tokyo and Paris and Milan and forget all about your little high school boyfriend."

"You're hard to forget."

"Until you meet a rock god or a prince," Dan waggled his brows. "And I'm too busy scribbling out lines of prose to realize that my goddess has escaped."

"You'll do great at Dartmouth," Serena decided. "You'll become the next great American writer."

"We'll see," Dan decided as ran a fingertip along her temple. They sat in quiet for a long time, watched the sun complete it's decent before Dan finally put his teasing aside. "Will you forget about me?"

"Will you write about me?"

Dan considered, waited until he was certain his words would be true. "I promise that I will never write about you as long as you never forget me."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Sometimes miracles bypassed the weekend and happened on Tuesday mornings. Blair had already changed her breakfast routine to include more carbohydrates and an Advil. She needed both to get through the flurry of activity that swirled the moment she stepped into Eleanor Waldorf Designs. She took conference calls with her father, managed every detail she either couldn't or didn't trust to delegate. Mostly though, she was washed under with _problems: _furs were quarantined, models that were assured of being right, makeup artists that were more ego than excellent, and shoes that almost but didn't quite fit. It brought out the second Advil by coffee break. Screw the four hour rule. She'd leave the Valium another ten years. She wasn't that much like her mother.

It's why her entire body tensed the moment she stepped from the elevator. She wouldn't let it show, she was Blair Waldorf after all, but she was waiting. For the scurry of Laurel or one of the other underlings, each bringing something for her to solve. She waited as she walked but no one came. The receptionist greeted her not with a stack of things to do but a smile and a wave. It made Blair's eyes go full. She stared down both sides of the glass walls, waiting for someone to attack. But no one came.

Then the redhead crossed her path and Blair was almost relieved. She waited for the problem but the redhead greeted her instead. Blair looked left and right again. "Is everything alright?" She asked for the first time in five weeks.

"Yes Miss Waldorf."

"_Everything_."

"The bolt of ermine fur is on your desk, Miss. Scott is delighted with the remake of her third dress and Mr. Cramer is here for a brief interview." The redhead almost stuttered the last. "But I can get rid of him if this is a bad time."

"That's it?"

"Yes Miss Waldorf."

"I suppose now is a good time," Blair decided with a shake of her head.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa pulled at the tassels on her purse while Howard spoke privately to her boyfriend. It wasn't as if she was expecting royal treatment, a layering of rose petals under her feet but this was ridiculous. They were treating her even worse than before. The way his mother kept throwing glances her way, lingering on everything from her shoes to the turquoise scarf woven through her hair. It was downright ridiculous. Still wasn't as bad as his father though. He had an arm around Nate, their private conversation loud enough to carry.

_"You're regressing Nathaniel." _Howard gave her another look and she was sure he wasn't talking about the untidy hair. _"UCLA and little brunette girls from Brooklyn. I thought you were doing so much better."_

"I'm standing right here," Vanessa finally pointed out. "I can hear everything you're saying."

"Can you now," Howard arched his brow and Vanessa had a momentary thought of shoving something sharp into it.

"Dad, come on, that's not necessary."

"I think..."

"I think everyone already knows what you think," Vanessa snapped. "You've made it clear more than once."

"This really doesn't concern you."

"Actually," Nate crossed his arms at the dismissal. "It does."

"We should talk about..."

"I think you've done enough talking," Vanessa grabbed at her boyfriend's hand. "Nate is going to UCLA and he's going out with me. _So deal with it."_

_"Nathaniel!" _His father regressed to yelling at the son since he wouldn't at the brunette. Nate gave him a look, gave his girlfriend a look but it was her words that gave him the side.

"How about I cook dinner instead," Vanessa arched a brow. "Spanish?"

Nate followed her right out of the house.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Where the hell is Laurel," Blair screamed into the Wednesday morning air. She meandered from one room to the other, arms weighed down with swatches, papers and a measuring tape. It was wrong. The remaining Waldorf of Waldorf designs ought not to be doing grunt work. The redheaded lap dog appeared first, offer to relieve Blair of her burden undone by the repeat of the question. "Where is Laurel? Find her for me."

"I...I..."

"What?" Blair glared harder. Serena found her friend then, waved a greeting, caught the facial expression and let the hand fall back down.

"Laurel no longer works here," The redhead announced with an instinctual backing away.

"Since when?"

"Since she was fired?"

"What!"

"She was fired yesterday evening."

Blair's brow went up in shock. "Did my father fire her?"

"No Miss Waldorf."

"Roman?"

"No Miss Waldorf."

"Cyrus?"

"No Miss."

Blair didn't really think it would have been them. Harold and Roman weren't even due back in New York for another couple hours and Cyrus, he just handled the paperwork. "Please explain to me how Laurel came to be fired without my approval."

"She was lifting funds..."

"I didn't ask _why_," Blair's gaze turned downright murderous, redhead's shoulders creeping closer to the floor in response. "I asked _how_. Who fired her?"

"Mr. Bass ma'am."

"Excuse me!" Blair's entire face went red at the idea, some of the panic spreading beyond the redhead to infect Serena as well. "How does Mr. Bass have any say in the going-ons here?"

"He asked me to direct all further problems to him," The redhead squeaked. "He was quite insistent."

That made Blair throw the entire contents of her hands on a table. The swatches, papers and pens landed in a flash of chaos, half ending on the floor. The force she used was enough for the entire collective to shrink back. "I'll bet he was," Blair spat and Serena inched her phone from her pocket. "If you'll excuse me. I have some business to attend to."

Serena texted as Blair's heels disappeared.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck was reclined on the sofa at the Bass townhouse, feet kicked out and headphones shared with Eric. He'd finished the last of his exams that morning, future spread out open and carefree. Well except for the soundtrack. The younger was trying to expand his musical repertoire. "It still sounds like crap to me," Chuck promised as he handed the Bluetooth back to his brother.

"Maybe some Franz Ferdinand?"

"Just give it up," Chuck suggested as his phone chimed. He had to smoother the laughter when he caught the message. "I'm guessing Dan was angrier than I thought. You sister has devolved to death threats." Chuck explained as he held the phone up for Eric to read.

"There's a ticking time bomb coming your way," Eric read with his own chuckle.

"Not the most original," Chuck said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"So Franz Ferdinand?"

"Don't you have Jamiroquai or something?" Chuck tried to meet him in the middle. "They're British."

"Jamiroquai? Weren't you two when they were popular?"

Chuck just kind of shrugged his shoulders. "I only like one of their songs anyway."

"Which one?"

"Which one do you think?" Chuck arched his eye just the slightest.

"High..." Eric started and then froze in mid-thought. His eyes rounded to two full disks, jaw slacking into that familiar deer in headlights posture. Chuck followed his gaze and then, for the first time in his eighteen years, his eyes rounded and his posture went as straight. "I know that face," Eric mumbled as Blair crossed the threshold. "That face is not your friend."

"I love you," Chuck squeaked out as Eric dove for the floor. It definitively proved that Eric was the smarter. He avoided the side of Blair's Prada purse, the one that hit Chuck squarely across the face. "What the hell Blair!"

She crossed her arms, tightly one over the other, gave a cursory glance down at Eric. He was already crawling across the floor, took to running the moment the moment he passed her. He reappeared only once after he'd passed the door, mouthed _'good luck'_ to his brother before disappearing altogether.

"What the hell Blair!" she repeated in disbelief. "What about what the hell Chuck! What were you thinking?"

"That Dan could use the help," Chuck grasped for straws. Maybe he'd dumped Serena for her comment.

"What...No! You had my assistant fired?"

Chuck's mouth made a little 'o' but no sound emerged. He put a hand up but couldn't really find the way to explain himself.

"Eleanor Waldorf Designs is none of your business."

"I had meant to discuss it with you..."

"_You_ discuss it with _me_!" Blair lost her words entirely for a moment at the mere thought, and then they came rushing back three times as hard. "The fur?" Chuck nodded his head to admit the involvement. "The model?"

"Suggested you might cut her salary in half."

Blair's curse froze on the thought. How come she hadn't thought of that? She shook it clear as the next wave of anger hit. "None of this was your business to get involved in. This is my _mother's_ legacy not some side project for the Bass billions..."

"I screwed up," Chuck admitted and Blair froze in her rant.

"Excuse me," Blair's voice dropped at his declaration.

"I royally fucked up," Chuck offered again and the way he said it so easily and so candidly. It made Blair sit on the couch beside him rather then scream her last few liturgies. She shook her head until the next declaration came. "You're entirely right. I shouldn't have got involved." Then she shut her eyes.

"Do you even understand what you've done?" Blair asked before she opened them again.

"You know that paperwork that didn't add up. She was the one behind it."

Blair shook her head. "You should have brought that to me."

"I just thought..."

"You thought you'd fire the woman who worked with my mother for ten years, which is ten years more experience than I have," Blair turned to her boyfriend with greater sympathy but just as much agitation.

"Oh."

"Yeah Chuck. One day before my show and you fire the person..." Blair put a hand to her head in frustration.

"You could do it without her," Chuck promised.

"I'm glad you have that much confidence in me," Blair snapped. "But I'm an eighteen year old who doesn't even know how to sew much less draw."

"You could learn," Chuck suggested. "Blair Waldorf could do anything she set her mind to." Blair shook her head again, but this time the tiniest smile showed through the waves of hair. Chuck cupped her chin to study it closer, added one of his own. "Besides, I'm sure your mother taught you more than you even realize." Blair turned her head away, pushed his hand and took a couple deep breaths. "Am I helping?"

"What is going to help," Blair turned over, smile strained but still there. "Is when you go to Laurel and get her back. You're going to tell her that you didn't have the authority to fire her and explain how dreadfully sorry you are for the misunderstanding. You're going to get her back for me," Blair insisted. "So I can fire her, as I was planning to, the day _after_ the show."

"Done," Chuck promised. "I just wanted to..."

"I know why you did it Chuck. You should have talked to me about it first."

"I know," Chuck admitted and he genuinely meant it. Blair must have known that too because she stopped her words then, sat back deeper into the sofa. Chuck pushed his feet out into the living room carpet and matched her movement, sat back into the falling quiet.

It was strange, that silence, neither fully awkward nor fully calm. It just was and after a few minutes Chuck decided he was alright with that. He didn't need to run away from it. It could just be. So he put his hand in the middle of them, captured hers between it and just held on.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The stage for the Waldorf show was a slip of glass cut through with silver; rows of seating rose from each side, layering upward. Most of the rows were empty now, only a few filling at the early moment. Most of the guests were gathered at the bar to one side, sipping champagne and debating whether Eleanor Waldorf Designs could survive the death of its founder.

Chuck was walking this way and that, checking the printed name tags to the list in his clipboard. It proved that he wasn't as convincing as he thought. Or Laurel was smarter than she looked. There would be no rebirth of the bitch in red, so Blair had ordered Chuck to take her place. He'd spent the morning fetching coffee with fabric, reorganizing the seating plan, cleaning the work tables and even buffing shoes. He did every menial chore that Blair could think up for him to suffer through. Blair took a twisted satisfaction from it and Chuck? He wasn't stupid enough to complain. It wasn't just because he owed her more than this. It was because she was carrying the wider, longer, heavier bag today.

That's why he was standing at the head of the stairs when Dan arrived, jeans and t-shirt contrasting with a black and gray pinstriped suit. Chuck gave one look at the other boy's clothes and shook his head automatically.

"Chuck."

"Dan."

Dan startled at the proper name. The last week not yet enough to cement its use. "So...What are you doing here?" Dan asked and then shook his head at himself. Of course Chuck would be here.

"I'm playing the part of usher," Chuck explained with a flip of his clipboard.

"So I'm guaranteed the spot in the back, behind the pole?"

Chuck shook the thought away with a flip of his finger, directed the other boy down the short stairwell. Dan walked first, found the paper with his name at the end of the stage, front and center. It made him raise both eyes. Chuck touched his shoulder, very briefly and explained. "You're good for her."

Dan's jaw slacked with the approval. He watched the older boy scurry back up the stairs, clipboard in hand and decided he might just have got him wrong.

It was Nate's turn to stand at the top arch, familiar brunette on his arm but unfamiliar look on his face. He looked out of place, hesitant until Chuck smiled up at him. "Nathaniel," he greeted with his usual flourish. At least until he heard the shrill '_Chuck_'. Chuck turned to find his girlfriend snapping her heel to one side. Chuck was starting to think that his brunette had radar for moments like this. She tiled her head to one side and he obeyed, walking a few steps away.

"What are they doing here?" Blair hissed just loud enough for her boyfriend to hear.

"He's my plus one," Chuck arched his brow. "And apparently she's a growing appendage."

"No Chuck." Blair shook her head. She would not accept this.

Chuck ran a finger down her arm, tilted her cheek up and softened his eyes. "You told me yourself that he was good to you. That he helped you through things."

"Yes...but..."

"If you're only angry at him for what he said to me then..." Chuck put his eyes even closer, softened his eyes until they melted into hers. "Know that I've already forgiven him."

"I don't think..."

"Besides," Chuck held the seating chart for her perusal, pointed to where he'd sat Archibald and Abrams. It chased away some of her lingering doubts, replaced them with a bemused smile. She waved him back; let Chuck lead their distinguished guests to the back, to the seats that Dan had alluded to. Chuck had saved the pole especially for Vanessa. He might have forgiven Nate but the Brooklyn bitch had a lot further to go.

Nate was gentleman enough to trade.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis was lying on the grass at Central Park when Bart saw her, arms extended fully with her son at their ends. He giggled as she lifted him up and down. She'd replaced her stilettos with a single green sandal on her left foot. Her right foot wore a thick plaster cast, discarded crutches lying to one side. It suggested she'd kicked a little too hard but she'd never think so. Aidan made a grab for the ties of her white blouse and she lowered him to the ground, lifting herself in the process. The little boy ran straight for another of similar age, Lewis made a comment to the woman beside her. "Shash!" Aidan cried and grabbed for his brown-skinned friend. The entire scene made Bart smile.

When Lewis looked up to find him there she smiled too. Bart took that as a good sign. "I'll be home in an hour." She offered.

"I'm not opposed to saying it here," Bart decided as he sat beside her, splayed out his legs into the damp grass, probably ruining his thousand dollar wool suit forever. It made Lewis blush and stare at the playing children again. Despite his promise to the end, Bart didn't say anything at first. Just followed Lewis' eyes to the two boys pushing the ball back and forth. The other boy's mother walked away to join them. "Richard Prospect told me why you went to Stanford."

"Did he?" Lewis' smile angled.

"You'll make an excellent doctor," Bart promised. "Well doctor-doctor."

"Clinical Psychologist."

"He also said that the RCMP forwarded copies of a rather interesting tape and document."

"Did they?" Lewis' smile finished its journey to outright smirk.

"So I guess you get to stay?"

"I suppose so."

"Is your ankle sore?"

"I'm not likely to be running away this time."

"Does that mean I should take my chance?" Bart asked as he folded his hands into his lap

"With all the drugs coursing through my system I'd say there's no better time than present."

Bart quirked a brow at the idea, it dropped down with his next admittance. "I really didn't get it."

"I know."

"I'm just used to..."

"Being able to buy what you want?"

Bart just inclined his head at the truth. "But..."

"I've _always_ had money," She explained at last. "Even when I didn't have anything else."

"Perhaps you could reeducate me. You've been doing well so far."

"My services are about to get a lot more expensive."

"Even for _family_?"

Lewis shook her head, lips curling with her humor. "Chuck?" She asked and Bart nodded. "Traitor," She decided with a fluff of her skirt.

Bart just shrugged his shoulders. "How long do you have to wear the cast for?"

"Two to three weeks."

"May I?" Bart took the black sharpie from his pocket, arched one brow until she nodded. He bent across her knee and caught her perfume which had changed from lemon to something closer to tangerine. It made him smile as he started writing in the tiny letters. They mostly matched his son except his were more fluid, more cursive than Chuck's.

Lewis kept her head averted but after a couple minutes the nerves started to get the better of her. "Are you writing out War and Peace?" She finally teased.

"Just the Peace," Bart promised, added another sentence and then signed Bart with his usual flourish.

_**Lewis,**_

_**I don't just like you, I am astounded by you. And it's not just because you're a good mother even though you are an excellent one. It's because you are beautiful, fascinating, kind, intelligent, loving and just generally amazing. I don't know if I love you but I'd give anything for the chance to find that out.**_

_**Would you consider offering it to me?**_

_**Bart**_

Lewis' cheeks flushed through in red once she'd read it, tried to chase her embarrassment away with words. "I would have been okay with a simple _I like you for you." _

"But mine was better right?" Bart smirked at the younger woman. She raised her eyes, didn't know quite how to respond. "So can I kiss you now? Without you breaking my arm?"

He didn't have to. She wrapped her arms around his neck first, leaned right into his lips, didn't leave an inch or a fear or a single thought behind. The kiss was short, not because the intent was short on either side, just because Aidan, as ignorant of life changing moments as most two year olds, yanked on his mother's arm until he'd pulled her clear.

"Go swing," He cried out, kicked his little heels when his mother didn't immediately jump. She couldn't.

So Bart clapped his hands once and offered his arms instead. Aidan wasn't particular; he went willingly, stopping only to ask a question. "Where fuck?"

"Excuse me," The would-be-Basses chimed together.

"Where fuck?" Aidan tried again.

That made Lewis and Bart snap their phones. They held the number fives in sequence.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The group of teens was gathered in the remnants of the presentation hall when the call came. Blair's curls remained pinned, Serena was still in her finale dress with Dan wiping at the remnants of her stage makeup. Nate was lounged out in a chair opposite the stage and his ex girlfriends, Vanessa sitting in his lap. Eric and Damien were the only ones to take to the stage, feet kicking absently at the glass. The show had been a success from beginning to end. Then again how could it not? It had Blair's meticulous and exacting eye trained to every single detail. She didn't allow mistakes to happen. Besides, Chuck was prepared to bankrupt any newspapers that suggested otherwise.

"So?" The room asked in collective once Chuck returned.

"Apparently I'm not allowed to babysit for six months."

"That's their attempt at _punishing_ you?" Dan asked in disbelief. It's not a wonder the boy was such a misfit.

"Hopefully the kid will know how to use a toilet by then." Chuck decided and the room fell into stunned silence. Chuck wrinkled his brow as he stared back and forth. "What?" No one dared put their astonishment to words, or at least they didn't get the chance before Chuck had fallen beside his girlfriend again, hands linking automatically.

There was a lingering déjà-vu to the entire arrangement. Here they were gathered again in a circle of sorts again, the Van der Bass suite might have no longer existed and Damien might have been added since the end of junior year, they might not all be friends, truthfully they weren't then either, but the moment was familiar. It was a throwback that everyone recognized, but not one they would champagne toast again. "There's an actual stage for your singing this time," Blair put it to words instead. It made everyone but Damien laugh. Eric put the explanation through the chime of Chuck's phone. It was a familiar ringtone. Some time, at the beginning of junior year, all the kids gathered had set the Gossip Girl ping to the same sound. They all grabbed their phones but Chuck's was the only one with a message.

**C.**

**I've photographed you, chased you, and printed you for five years.**

**Consider this your consolation prize. One last photo for your eyes only.**

**Happy Graduation.**

**XOXO**

**Gossip Girl**

When it loaded Chuck's entire face exploded with uncontainable delight. He put a hand to his mouth as the natural chuckle escaped, Blair adding another when she caught a glance over his shoulder. The photo was of Bart and Lewis kissing in the park. Serena was next, giddy smiles slowly spreading from one side of the room. Chuck waved his brother off the stage, showed his gift as smugness started to take over. It never completely overtook the natural smiles, arrogance and naturalness building to exist in a cute sort of melding that made everyone else stare. Chuck snaked his head behind Blair's hair, whispered something in her ear that made them both laugh harder. They kept their eyes together as Eric took the phone, passed it further along. It was a strangely intimate moment within the circle of eight.

When Dan saw the photo and realized what had made Chuck smile that way, that's when he had to admit that Chuck was more like the rest of them then he'd ever allowed him to be. Dan might have once considered him the devil incarnate but that was long ago now. His methods of showing it might be suspect but Chuck Bass had a heart (the color coding alone must have taken hours of work). Chuck might have his problems, and it's true that many were of his own making, but he wasn't above helping others through theirs.

Chuck's phone pinged again and Nate caught the reminder before he could turn it back. He didn't comment once he did, just leaned across the stage and returned it to the brunette. "And that is my cue to leave," Chuck said as he stood. There wasn't much need for secrecy anymore. Not when he'd released a short statement announcing to the entire world that he was indeed an alcoholic who was getting help with the support of his family and friends. Chuck had needed to do something. The photographers were starting to get aggressive. "I'll be back in two hours," He said as he ran a hand down the lapel of his suit. "Try not to have too much fun without me," He narrowed his eyes playfully at the entire gathering, took a quick kiss from Blair and headed upward.

"Chuck," Dan stood up before Chuck had climbed more than a few steps. He stopped and turned back to face the other brunette. "Before you go..."

"Yes?" Chuck's brow spiked curiously.

Dan took a deep breath and for a moment you could see how much it cost him but he put his hand out regardless. "I just wanted to say. I'm no better than you." The supposition had both brunettes startle, one because of the words and the other because he was offering them. "I mean you're smug and your humor borders on offensive. You really do care too much about sex and have made some pretty awful choices in life but..."

"You nose is so high in the air I'm surprised you don't walk into furniture more often. You have views on sexuality that border on prudish and morals that are too draconian for anyone to live up to." Chuck finished the thought and shook the hand. "So I guess that makes me no better than you," Chuck agreed as he walked away.

The entire audience went silent. At least until Chuck offered once last shot as he hit the top of the stairs. "_Well except in one area_."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – And then there was one (and an epilogue)_

_Bradshaw-esque - I promise CB will be happy forever :) At least in my mind. They've gone through enough to deserve it.  
_

_Angie38 – Your poor friend. I remember once yelling at my brother for using his usual colorful language in front of my son. He hasn't picked any swear words up yet (knocks on wood)_

_Flipped – Did you like the DC at the end of this chapter? I'm hoping you did._

_Sky Samuelle – Thanks darling and thank you for the help with the mature outtake. I wouldn't have had the guts without you._

_Dystopic Entropy – I was tempted to write Lewis getting angry at Chuck as a scene but truth be told, she'd be annoyed but she'd get over it. And it didn't work with her having ruined her ankle (my poor little distance runner)_

_Angelwriter214 – that DC scene with the Kama Sutra was literally the first scene I wrote for FTHEA. I actually loved it and I usually don't like my own writing._

_Ingridmarie – Lewis was guaranteeing that she will never again have immigration issues (and probably end with a full pardon for her past). She was still stupid to do it on her own though._

_Ruby –I do have an idea for a one shot titled "And on the seventh day Chuck realized Eric was gay", just because I have yet to read a story about how Eric comes out to Chuck. As for writing more GG beyond that…I'll be frank and say that the entire show is on a three-episode probation period for me, meaning I'm only giving them three episodes of the new season to decide if I want to continue watching it at all._

_Oc-journey06 – Yep, Chuck and Blair finally get the chance to settle back into life together which includes schemes and plots and general mischievousness. I think you'll love the plot they hatch in their third year of university. It's dear to my heart ;)_

_danzer24 – Yeah, I have to say that while Nate is slowly growing on my again I don't trust his character at all. So it's hard to really get behind him. And the Nate of show is basically just a Casanova and thus I have no interest in any of his romantic connections because I know he'll just let them down and that's sad really. _

_CBIWBJ trory12 – We'll find out next chapter that Chuck and Blair are scheming to outdo the other. It involves breaking into safes and rummaging through purses. :)_

_Annablake – Yeah. Dan deserves to go to Dartmouth and have it paid for. I'm sure C would do anything D asked at this point (except apparently be nice but he is still Chuck Bass after all). I do like Bart and Lily as friends and I knew I had to work that back in (that's why I made Lily Lewis' friend in the first place). Bart and Lily together was ruined for me with L going after R on the day of her husband's funeral but the rest is alright. Lewis pregnant? Hmmm....how old is she again?_

_Hey!! - glad you enjoyed my foray into smut. I'm not likely to do it again I'm afraid._

_MCRgrl246 – Thank you so much :)_

_Up Next – Blair and Chuck plot to outdo each other. Graduation Day brings a long overdue visit along with two heartfelt speeches. And we fast forward four years to get a flash of someone's wedding but whose is it? Who has broken up? Who has stayed together? Who has a three year old and who is pregnant? _


	65. Chapter Twenty Five Part Three

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Part Three**

Eric slipped the paper into his pocket before he returned to the family room. Damien winked as he sat back down, went back to reading his ARTnews magazine. Eric had been shocked when his mother had invited his boyfriend to live with them for two months. It was beyond the realm of expected except his mother had been doing a lot of unexpected things lately. She'd become more reliable, more orientated to the needs of her children. She was transforming into the mother she'd shown glimpses of before. At times it was hard to reconcile, at others he had to reconcile it to the man that sat beside her. Rufus might have had his faults, their partnership might have started in murky waters (at least the second time) but it, along with the man, was slowly growing on him. Rufus was a good father, and being with him was slowly transforming Lily into a better mother. That had to mean something. Besides, Rufus was the one who finally convinced Lily to sign the paperwork allowing him to live abroad. That meant more.

"Look Eric!" Jenny grabbed the magazine from his boyfriend's hands, showed him the small mention of Damien. The accolades hadn't stopped once the show had. The blonde gave him a little shove in excitement. Eric returned it with one of his own. It was proof that the ice was melting between the two. Damien had approved of her first, never expected Eric to, but after a couple weeks of being tossed together, never forgetting that she might just have saved his brother's life, Eric remembered what he'd like about Jenny all along. He might never love all of her but she'd never expected him to.

"Dan," Jenny sent the magazine sailing across, landed on her brother's latest composition of prose. He tossed it angrily aside. Only when Jenny sighed audibly did he take a cursory look. Just a quick glance before he went back to scribbling. He'd have glanced longer if his girlfriend was beside him but Serena had run through the living room without even a look, dragged Blair to her bedroom. The graduation ceremonies were the next morning and Blair and Chuck were both scheming to outdo the other. That meant not only writing the better speech but undermining the others ability to do the same. They'd both failed thus far.

Eric grabbed his jacket to leave, giving only one last look back as he did. He watched the blending of Humphrey and Van der Woodsen and this time the bile didn't threaten. So maybe his family was changing again but it might just be okay this time. And if it wasn't, at least he'd be living over 3000 miles away from the meltdown.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Here," Serena held the envelope out to her best friend, girls collapsing to the bed in a fit of giggles that was closer to their preteen than nearly adult selves. The envelope was standard issue white, nothing spectacular except for the simple 'speech' scrawled across the front in familiarly small print. Serena had endured great peril, or at least great cost to retrieve it from the Bass compound. She'd used the numbers carved into the drawer of Chuck's side table, found it tucked between the deed to a new building on the west side and the household accounts.

Blair couldn't conceal her excitement as she ripped into their prize; her face was split in two with the size of her smile. It lasted a full three seconds after she pulled the sheet. Then it was replaced by an irritated glower.

"What?" Serena said as she peered over a shoulder.

"The top ten Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Editions of all time," Blair read the title. "By Chuck Bass."

"Maybe that _is_ his speech," Serena considered.

"Read the bottom," Blair shoved it into her best friend's face to do exactly that. Right there, below 2004, in tiny print was the true message: _You didn't think it would be that easy did you?_

"Oh!" Serena offered.

"Mother Chucker," Blair threw the paper on the floor.

"I thought for sure that'd be the place." Serena offered in consolation.

"I'm never going to find it before tomorrow."

"Do you think he keeps it on him like you?"

"I already looked in his wallet," Blair raised a brow. "When he was _indisposed_."

The frustrated silence lingered only a few moments before Serena broke it, blonde enthusiasm seeking out a new idea. "Why don't we practice yours instead?"

Blair agreed with a huff, flounced to the other side of the room to grab the paper from her purse. She put her hand into the small clutch, face going white when it didn't meet her envelope. She opened the purse wide, pushed compact and lipstick side to side. There was no comforting slip of white. "Mother Chucker!" She yelled it this time.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The servant waved Blair through as she arrived, proof that Chuck was at home. The Bass townhouse rose around her, servant leading her to the main room. Chuck didn't mind sitting in it now. The trim had been finished and he hadn't. He lounged out in the overstuffed sofa, her slip of paper dangled between his fingers. The smug smile was already in place, made Blair wonder how long he'd been sitting there in anticipation of her. "Excellent speech sweetheart," He opened. "A slight bit too sentimental in places but moving overall."

Blair marched across the wood flooring, yanked her paper back. "How could you have bettered me," she snapped as he fought a chuckle.

"Because I banked on the right Van der Woodsen."

"Eric!"

"It's all in the subordinates," Chuck promised smugly. "You ought to have remembered that." Blair hissed a moment, stuffed the speech into her purse and turned away. Chuck let her take a few steps before he asked. "Are you coming back later?"

Blair turned at that, arched a brow but she couldn't quite keep the agitated glower true when faced with his smile. "Maybe," She threw out as her lips turned back upward. He knew she would be. Games were games but they were them. She knew it too. "I have some business to take care of first," She waved her hand at him as she left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Where's the blinding light?" Eric teased as his two female captors stared him down. They'd trapped Eric in his mother's office, gone so far as to lock the door, turn off all the lights and force him into the room's main chair. The imported leather hardly gave the impression they were trying for. Serena held up the flashlight and shined it right into her brother's eyes. It made him laugh. "You're supposed to be the good cop," He enlightened her.

The bad cop leaned forward, brown curls not as menacing as the glare on her face. "Just tell us what we need to know and we won't have to hurt you."

"You mean you won't need to hurt me," Eric countered with another look at his sister. "What's she going to do? Give me premature lines around the eyes?" Eric turned back to Blair. "That's only terrifying to you." Blair gave him a kick on the leg for the impertinence. Eric gasped once in pretend pain and then sat back up. "You know I put on Chuck's skin pads as soon as he texted me your ETA."

"Where's his speech?" Serena did her part.

"Not where you're going to find it."

"Do you remember when I pinched your ear in the spring?" Blair asked with her tone changed to a misleadingly sweeter one.

"You can torture me all you want," Eric supplied. "I _can't_ tell you what you want to know."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"There is no speech for you to find. Chuck burned it once he was done. He's already got it memorized."

"Are you kidding me?" Blair pulled his chin up, stared into his eyes. She grabbed the flashlight from her best friend, shined it to study closer.

"No."

"But you've read it," Blair's eyes narrowed again.

"No ma'am," Eric just smiled wider. "He knew I'd been compromised in the past."

It made Blair wince. "That's..."

"Kind of brilliant," Serena laughed at her side. It dropped the moment Blair turned her glare to the right.

"Are you alright in there?" Damien's voice broke their circle of doom. They'd forgotten until the knock. The youngest Van der Woodsen wasn't unprotected anymore and, from the smug smile on his face, Eric knew that too.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"So...you have it memorized?" Blair teased as the limousine passed through the metal gates of Woodlawn Cemetery. "What would it take for you to recite it to me?" She teased further, not because she thought she could tease the truth from him, just because she thought she could tease away the implications of that moment. Eric had finally related in full detail what had happened the last time Chuck had passed through the ornate black. At least the mini bar was empty on this trip.

"Waiting two hours," Chuck decided with a look at his watch. He smiled as he said it and somehow that was enough to quell all of Blair's fears. She pulled off her graduation hat and leaned against her boyfriend as the limousine crawled through winding gravel, buried her head beneath the crook of his chin.

It was warmer than it had been in the spring, trees that had just been budding having since exploded with green leaves. They shaded the lines of grey stone, mourners in black hats and shoes. Chuck caught both between glances out the window, quick looks that eventually turned longer. It was a beautiful place in its own right, with the sun peeking between bushes and dancing over metal pots. The church bells chimed in the distance but this time it calmed rather than petrified.

Blair's mother was buried on the top of a Southern hill, fitting since Eleanor always liked to be the top of everything. The headstone was as ornate as the surrounding, twisting ivy carved in full relief. Blair went to visit every week, had asked Chuck to accompany her on this special morning. Chuck and Blair wore their graduation gowns already, long lines of black and matching yellow bands of valedictory pride. Chuck pushed the sleeves up as he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend's waist, listened to her relate the little bits of her life to her mother. She talked about the successful fashion show, the upcoming graduation, even mentioned that she was dating him again. Blair turned back at the last, suggested that they'd feel the roll. It made him chuckle and pull his arms tighter around. There was a bouquet of flowers dangling from his fingertips. They weren't like the Calla lilies and yellow roses Blair had placed already. Chuck's were more greenery than rose. It proved that this moment was for more than Blair and Eleanor.

Misty Bass was on the far side of the cemetery and Blair and Chuck chose to walk the distance. Blair had found her on the list, visited herself the day before so she'd know where to go on this one. She wanted the moment to go right, didn't need any complications for a moment that was already likely to be difficult for the man she loved. In the end the place had been easy to find. Misty's headstone rose when the surrounding lay flat, ivory out of place in lines of grey. There was a reason for it; Chuck's mother had been buried beside her own parents. Blair's fingers bound tighter through Chuck's as they approached. She waited for the flinch, the suggestion that they turn back. The flinch ran through her fingers but the suggestion never left his lips. He didn't let her hand go though, not until he moved to place his own flowers.

There was one spot empty in the ring of four, as if his father knew he was coming. Then again, maybe he had. Chuck filled it with green. He stood as he stepped back, eyes tracing the lines of the headstone, the photograph of his family that had been committed to ivory. He tried standing but it didn't feel right, so he leaned down instead, bent at the knees until his eyes were level with what was left of her. The folds of his graduation gown pooled at his feet as he read the living words that decorated one corner.

Chuck tried to use words like Blair had, something that started with today is graduation day except it hadn't been a week since his last visit and somehow he believed that wherever she was, his mother already knew. So he went another way. "I guess this visit is long overdue. I'm sorry for that. I got so wrapped up in me that I forgot about you." Chuck pulled his hat off to run a hand through his hair, breathed deeper before he could continue. "I missed you always though, could have used your guidance more than once." Blair put a hand to his back then, just a tiny touch that didn't withdraw. "I think I finally figured things out though. I think you'd be proud of me. Maybe not everything I've done," He admitted as he faced his companion. He took her hand and linked it through his before he turned back. "But I know you'd approve of where I ended up."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa kicked her heels into the stool opposite hers, pushed back until her own lifted lightly off the floor, continued to do it for nearly fifteen minutes. He purse was tossed to one side, watch being studied to measure every minute that made Nate later. She was wearing a plain yellow dress that draped between her shoulders and fell all the way to the floor, crisscrossing leather sandals provided shoes. Her hair was down and full, curls snapping around her thoughtful mouth. She gave him five more minutes and then called. He picked up immediately and Vanessa caught the wall of voices behind. "Nate?"

"Hey Vanessa."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the Bass townhouse."

"Oh."

"Bart is putting on a breakfast."

"Oh." Vanessa put her heels on the floor, clicked them once on the linoleum. "Were you planning on calling me...?"

"Wh...oh! I forgot about our breakfast plans! I meant to call you yesterday."

"Hmmm," She ran a fingernail along her kitchen counter.

"I'm sorry Vanessa. I just got wrapped up in everything and I was going to invite you but I know things have been weird between you and Chuck, you know since..."

"The only thing that bothers me," Vanessa cut him off. "Is that you forgot to call."

"But I'll see you at the graduation," Nate promised. "I saved you a seat right at the front, beside my parents."

"See you then," Vanessa shook her head as she hung up the phone. The idea of sitting beside Howard and Anne was enough to make her want to stay away. She didn't. She showed up with exactly twenty minutes to start, found Nate waiting with a kiss and bouquet of flowers. He gave them both with flourish before running off to rejoin his regular crew.

Vanessa smelled the roses several times after he'd left. They didn't smell as sweet as they had seven days before.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck leaned against the bathroom door, checked his watch again. His girlfriend was behind it, freshening up taking about five times longer than it ought to. He could have been worried but Chuck chose to trust her instead. He kicked one foot in front of the other, pulled at his voluminous graduation gown, and readjusted the band of valedictory yellow with the tiniest smirk. It appeared every time he touched it. How could it not?

"Chuck," Serena emerged from the far doors. There were few students milling around at that point, mostly just parents who'd yet to take their seats. The graduating class was already assembled.

"Sis," Chuck inclined his brow. There was no irritated response to his declaration now, no reminder that it was no longer true, usually just a sort of muted smile. There was more than a smile on her face today though; she was positively giddy, exuding a contented happiness from every pore. "You're positively glowing. Dan must be progressing in his summer reading."

Serena crossed her arms at first but then let them drop. "We might have turned it into a group reading assignment," Serena admitted with the tiniest flush of red.

Chuck arched his brow and would have commented more but Ms. Queller entered the hall, barked at Serena to be in her seat already. "Mr. Bass," She started next. "You should be on stage. Where is Miss Waldorf?" Chuck tilted his head to the bathroom door. "Can you get yourself assembled?" Queller begged. She looked positively frazzled as she scurried off to the next problem.

"Blair," Chuck pounded a fist to the wood. "We're due on stage already. What's taking you so long?"

She opened the door then, reorganizing her curls until they fell exactly right. "I was feeling a bit constrained," She arched her brow behind as she stepped past. Chuck followed it and saw her black pinstriped skirt and white blouse lying folded in one corner. It made Chuck gasp in surprise, eyes immediately going back to Blair, to her ass which must now be uncovered beneath.

It proved Blair wasn't above dirty tricks to win.

St. Constance started the proceedings with the girl's choir providing the patriotic necessities. St. Judes would be the school to finish and this order was reflected in the valedictory speeches. That's why Blair took the stage first. She stepped with more grace than her boyfriend, unfolded her speech along perfectly straight lines and stared out into the crowd with unmatched poise.

_"Once upon a time I used to believe in once upon a times. I used to believe in fairy tales, in black knights," _She couldn't help the smirk that briefly crossed_. "And white knights. I used to think that every princess deserved her Prince Charming." _Blair arched her brow into the auditorium, waited for emphasis._ "I grew up and when I did, I gave up childish things. I think that's exactly what this moment is about. It's about growing up, leaving our adolescence behind to enter a new stage of life. I am sure there are many of you who are scared by the thought. Don't be. I know for everything we give up, for everything that is taken away, we are given something new in return. And there is so much new before us, an empty canvas to paint a life story upon. One of you may go on to lead our nation; another may go on to ruin it. What will make the difference? We must use the education that had been given us by our teachers, live up to the values instilled by our families, and take reassurance in the love and support of our friends. If we do that then we can not fail. And so I commend you to your journey with only a single admonishment. Don't rush to the ever after because it's the story that is most worth living." _

The applause brought a genuine smile to her lips as she refolded her paper. The extra swing to her hips as she walked back to her seat, that was far less truth than art. Chuck's eyes followed every movement of the flesh beneath the fabric. She arched her brow and he ran his eyes downward in invitation. It arched higher when his lips went to her ear the moment she sat. "Are you riding me to the luncheon?" He teased.

"Mr. Bass!" The sharp edge finally pulled through their game. Chuck looked up to see his entire graduation class and a hundred guests waiting on him. He jumped to his feet and started for the stage. Blair waited to shift until exactly the right moment, called out a 'yes' loud enough for her boyfriend to hear. Chuck put his eyes back long enough to stub his toe on the raised edge of the podium. The head teacher covered the microphone and his resulting string of curses.

"One moment," Chuck promised with just a finger above the podium. He took a deep breath behind it and stood, stared out at the hundreds of faces and regained the poise Blair had tried to wrestle away. His hands fell naturally to the side, posture relaxed and smirk returned before he started. Blair sat straighter as it did, battle already half lost in her mind. She knew her boyfriend. She knew there was nothing he loved as much as a sea of faces hanging on his every word.

"_I could have written you some grand speech about the new chapter of life we're entering. I could have tried to eulogize the next eighteen years...except I know. I could never put it to words better than Blair can_," He admitted with a look backward and a tiny smile. "_So I'll tell you what I learned in the last eighteen instead and I hope you take that as fodder for the next. I've learned that despite what all the egocentric nineteenth century poets swear," Chuck_ stared out at their follower_. "Sometimes love isn't enough. In fact, sometimes it's not even close." _Chuck had to stop for just a second, stare at the podium to regroup_. "And that has to be okay. Because at other times it's more than enough," H_e promised as his would-be-parents linked hands in front_. "And that can be beautiful too. I've learned that life is a bit like climbing a mountain but only in the fact that sometimes you try and fail, and keep failing and falling and fucking up. It's the way it is. Sometimes life just sucks like that," _He promised with a wink at his younger brother_. "But I also learned that if you give up then there's nothing left to stop the free fall. So keep trying. If you do then eventually you find the hand hold, the tiny outreach of rock. And it doesn't take much to turn the tides, just a single moment or a single person to push you back up into the right direction. But you have to keep your eyes open to find it. Most of all, though, I've learned to not be afraid to step back. Don't be afraid to examine yourself, to question, to revisit and keep stepping back if you have to. I learned that stumbling backward doesn't mean the finish disappears in the distance. I discovered the opposite. That if you step far enough back, you might just end in a whole new beginning." _He promised as he bowed his head.

Chuck turned his eyes backward as he finished, arched his brow as the applause started again. The question remained unspoken but lingered between.

Who had won? Who do _you_ think?

**Four Years Later **

The sun started its slow decent into the Pacific, dusted the North Shore mountains in a cloud of red and yellow. Vancouver played out in the rear view, lines of houses building to towering apartment buildings. Somewhere in the distance, dangled on the edges of False Creek was one of Chuck's apartments. He'd added a few more: a penthouse in London to retire to during his frequent trips there, another in Tokyo because Blair swore the fashion inspired her, one in Milan where his once sister had taken residence for seven months. He collected bits everywhere, gave them back as easily but Chuck kept his real pieces close. The apartment wasn't why he was here though, at least not entirely. They'd visited it only twice in the last four years, preferring to holiday in the sun to the rain. They were here for an entirely different reason; a very special and very long overdue wedding.

The light hit the crest of the Arthur Laing Bridge along with Chuck's rental Porsche. He pushed his sunglasses further back, returned the hand to the steering wheel, his other taking turns between the gear shift and the hem of his fiancée's skirt. "Eyes...road," Blair reminded him as the fingers strayed too far upward again... "Another accident and even you won't be able to afford the insurance."

"If you didn't whimper so distractedly then I'd be able to keep my concentration," He countered with his customary smirk, let his fingers crawl along her silk stockings again.

"That was before your brother was in the car." Blair reprimanded through the next turn, pushed his hand away as Vancouver International Airport rose in the distance.

"He's not my brother," Chuck promised with a glance at his watch. "For at least another three hours."

"_Chuck_," Blair shook her head in disappointment.

"The kid's kind of a brat," Chuck explained.

"Only with you."

"He's always asking me to buy him things."

"That's because you _do_."

"I guess he's still kind of cute," Chuck said after he chanced a quick look behind. Aidan was passed out in his booster seat, brunette curls having grown long enough to cover his closed eyes. "Especially when he's sleeping," He decided as his hand went back to Blair's lap. He kept it above the fabric this time, wove his fingers through the left hand and the diamond that hung their. His mother's ring had been shifted to the other side in their second year of university, replaced by a ten carat diamond.

"It's not a wonder. You kept him at Playland for over five hours! On the day of his mother's wedding."

"Hey, if it wasn't for Uncle Chuck..."

"Brother Chuck."

"_Uncle _Chuck...he'd be some nerdy kid condemned to a life of museums and bird parks."

"I kind of liked the Rifle Bird Sanctuary we went to yesterday." Blair decided.

"You weren't attacked by a Sand Crane."

"There were signs," Blair reminded him. "Besides it's not like you didn't drop him on the nanny after the first hour at the fair."

"I got him back for the last two," Chuck countered. "It's not my fault the kid is too short to go on any of the good rides. How could Lewis have procreated such a midget?"

"He's six!"

"Who wants want to sit around flying mini helicopters all day."

"When they can fall a hundred feet in the Drop Zone again, and again, and again," Blair rolled her eyes.

"I thought you were proud of me for finding safer outlets for my reckless tendencies?" He reminded her. Chuck truly had. He'd taken up mountain climbing, white water rafting, and more than a few stints with heliskiiing. Blair could have been scared but she knew that any and all of them were safer than the highs he used to chase.

"That was before you planned our entire Asian tour around Dodonpa, which you rode, how many times? Wasn't it forty-four?"

"Sweetheart, if I remember correctly, you rode it forty-eight times. If the thing had hands I'd a been jealous!"

Blair smiled as Chuck stopped their rental on the arrivals level. He let both hands drop from the steering wheel as her smile spread, a genuine one that had her bring her other hand to his, cover both the top and bottom of his left hand. "I told you not to eat the cotton candy between thirty-one and thirty-two," She teased, played with the edge of his wedding band. She made him wear it, not because she was insecure in his commitment, Chuck had been devoted to her entirely since the moment he'd sworn to it on a balcony in Montreal. It's because underneath that ring was a tattoo, a tiny Blair that spread the full circumference of his ring finger.

There was a moment in their shared time when his words weren't enough, when his kisses didn't ease her anxiety and when he'd already given her a diamond. So he had his love put to permanent ink. It was the only time in the last four years that Blair believed he'd fallen from the wagon because, honestly, only a drunken person would do something that stupid. He hadn't but she'd hated it anyway. At least until she'd seen him talking to a shapely blonde teaching assistant. Then she'd kind of loved it.

She still made him wear the ring. She was born and bred Upper East Side after all.

"There," Blair waved at the two boys emerging from the sliding doors. Eric spotted them first, slapped his partner on the shoulder. "Damien came!" She nudged Chuck on the shoulder. "They must have let him defend his portfolio early." Chuck took a cursory look into their small back seat. A little advance notice might have helped.

The youngest Van der Woodsen wasn't so young anymore. He'd filled out his wiry form, progressed from polos to fully buttoned shirts. He might have been two years shy of law school but he could play the part of lawyer already. His partner had remained the opposite: kept the jeans, the ribbed shirts and the ever dangling cigarette. Damien tossed it to the ground as her saw the Porche, stubbed it beneath his foot. He'd tried together with Chuck to quit over the last Christmas Holiday. Damien hadn't managed a week. Chuck hadn't succeeded either, except to turn regular to rare.

"We only have room for one," Chuck said as he stepped from the vehicle to lean against the hood.

"Guess we'll have to leave you behind then," Eric offered in greeting.

"I wouldn't trust you driving Blair," Chuck threw right back. "You've been driving on the wrong side too long."

"I was on the wrong side before I ever went," Eric teased right back, tossed his duffel over.

"He'll have to sit on your lap," Chuck suggested to Damien as he took his bag as well, threw both in the trunk.

"It'll be like that trip to Stonehenge all over again." Blair offered.

"Except maybe Damien should be on top this time," Chuck raised a brow. "He's still as scrawny as he was the first time."

"Nice to see you too brother," Eric arched a brow derisively. It was becoming a regular thing, Chuck commenting on his transformation from gangly to fully grown. It had been cute at first. It was just getting annoying now.

"It's nice to see you too," Chuck promised with more sincerity.

"Group hug," Blair demanded as she stepped from the vehicle. It was the kind of thing you'd expect Serena to suggest, except she was waiting at the hotel and Blair had picked up one habit from Cyrus. Just one and only with her closest friends. It was still a bad one in Chuck's opinion.

Chuck arched his brow, same as he did every time she suggested it, which was every time they saw Eric again. Damien was just dragged along for the ride. It progressed the way it always did, Eric giving his would-be sister a hug first, yanking in Damien while Blair tried to pull Chuck. She could never do it on her own; it always took the combined effort of three.

Chuck would never admit that he liked it.

"What is that?" Damien asked one they broke. When he stared into the back of the vehicle, at the little boy with brown curls who was still sleeping soundly.

"It's called a child," Chuck educated the older boy. "Don't tell me you've never considered having one with Eric."

The rest stared at him with the strangest expression and Chuck was left pondering what exactly that would entail.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vanessa had the map of Vancouver folded on her lap, was trying to match Chuck's scribbled directions to the lines of yellow and blue. It wasn't her area of expertise. She's finished her last week at New York Film Academy, already produced two shorts that had been purchased by a New York distributor. She wasn't the top of her class but she had the right friendships and sometimes the right friendships were enough. She opened the window halfway, mild breeze enough to ruffle the red and orange print dress she wore, create little patterns in her long brown hair. Unlike most mothers, Vanessa had decided to keep her hair long, even taken to ironing it flat. Her daughter coloured quietly in the back, portable easel laid out over her tiny legs, chunky crayons in hand. Ever fifteen minutes or so she'd tap at her mother's shoulder, hand another masterpiece upward for inspection. It was usually the same, tiny flowers or scribbles that sometimes represented the most important people in her life. She rarely drew her daddy.

That father ran a hand along his girlfriend's thigh. She pushed it away on instinct, studied the map with more detail than was necessary. It made Nate breath deeply; turn his eyes from the lines of yellow to his angel with brown curls. "You look beautiful," He promised but it wasn't enough to let his fingers linger. It rarely was anymore. Nate had just finished his last year at UCLA, graduated with a degree in Human Kinetics. Isabella Archibald had been born after the first year, a perfect mixing of the two with a kind of beauty that made people stop and stare. She was a vision with her mother's slight bone structure and huge violet eyes, her father's perfect face and sandy golden locks. Perhaps most importantly she appeared to take her intellect from the maternal side.

"Chuck's directions said to go left here," Vanessa slapped Nate on the shoulder before they reached the intersection, pointed wildly but he was already too far to redirect their Mercedes by the time the thought transferred. "Can't you just listen to me?"

"It'll just take the next."

"No, you can't..." It was too late for the information, Nate, as per usual, taking the route before he'd thought the costs through. Downtown Vancouver is beautiful by most city standards, lots of green space and public art carved into the multitude of one way streets. Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut in panic, screamed out loud as Nate directed them east on Smithe when the only option was west. It wasn't as busy as during the evening rush, but the Saturday evening bar and club crowd made it close. Nate slammed the brakes of their luxury rental, their daughter Isabella starting to cry in time to the shrieking car horns and swerving wall of other vehicles.

Nate had redirected them to the nearest side street, pulled the car to a full stop before Vanessa dared to open her eyes again. She inched them at first, half expecting to see a city bus bearing down upon them. There was nothing there, but the hangover of almost still made her eyes tear in time to her shaking shoulders. "Vanessa," Nate said but she pulled the door open, closed it and leaned against it. She faced the stone building and tried to regain her breathing. Her daughter quieted before Vanessa had her senses together enough to comfort her. She was as strong as her mother used to be.

Nate stepped out next, crossed around the hood of their rental and stood beside Vanessa. The brunette rubbed at the remnants of her tears, kept those arms up when Nate tried to hug her. "Please don't touch me," She said quietly. Nate withdrew immediately.

"Vanessa, I _am _sorry. I think..."

"I think I should drive," Vanessa decided as she pushed past. "Before you kill all of us."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis ran a finger along the beading at the base of her ribcage. There were over three hundred tiny crystals interwoven to form a diamond shape. It was the only decoration in another otherwise simple wedding gown. Two wide silk straps stretched upward from it, draped in a goddess style that was reflected in the billowing fabric below. It hung short enough to show the legs that Bart continued to admire most. It might have been their wedding day but Bart was still beside her, using the same bathroom mirror to clip his cuff links. It was an easier task than it might have been four years ago. The glasses had come fully two years ago, vision correction within two months after. He didn't want to look the part of fossil beside his twelve year younger wife. Lewis brought her long blonde curls forward and then pushed them back again. She'd gone back to her natural hue three years ago. It might have subtracted another five years from her age, made people stare like they had at ten but neither bothered her anymore. Not when she had Bart to tease her about it. "I'm ready," Bart said it first. It was fitting. He'd been ready for this moment years before his fiancée.

"I'll be only five more minutes," Lewis promised as she wove the first matching diamond-shaped crystal earring through.

"I'm going to go talk to Chuck," Bart decided with a kiss to his fiancée's hair. "Have a few words before his speech."

"You want to give Chuck a pep talk?" Lewis put a hand to her lover's arm and pulled him back.

"Yeah, for his speech today," Bart explained.

Lewis shook an emphatic no. "Do you remember the speech you gave him about the importance of post secondary education?"

"I lent Blair the jet to get him back from London," Bart countered. "Chuck was only two weeks late for the fall semester."

"How about the speech about how wonderful it was to marry young," Lewis arched her brow. "The one that turned Chuck and Blair's wedding date from confirmed to unmentionable. That made Bart straighten up a bit. Maybe she had a point. "If we're going to get married..."

"_If_? There's a priest expecting us in less than fifteen minutes."

"Since we're going to get married," Lewis corrected with a deep breath. "Let's come to some agreement about parenting. Let's agree that all future pep talks and general parenting decisions should be my domain."

Bart didn't debate the idea long, shook his head almost immediately. "As long as I get input into the operations of your practice."

"Agreed," Lewis decided and leaned forward to kiss her soon-to-be husband.

Bart pulled back before she could. "Aren't you afraid we'll ruin your make up before the pictures?"

"I think being knocked up already took care of that," Lewis countered with a hand to her curving belly. It made Bart smile as he kissed her. He'd intended just a chaste kiss but his fiancée had other plans. She leaned right into him, turning their kisses heated within moments. Bart had definitely drawn the right card when it came to pregnancy hormones.

"There's a whole room of guests on the other side of that wall," Bart reminded her.

"Really?" Lewis countered with the wickedest arch of one brow.

"Can I marry you twice?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Your apartment looks stunning," Blair whispered into his ear. It did. The balcony of his penthouse apartment had been transformed. There were thirty green chairs laid out across the length, white silk isle with green garland forming the border. Along each side stood eight towering candles, lit to illuminate the growing darkness. Tiny bands of white crystal lights were woven through the garden arches, provided additional light for the evening ceremony. They all flickered into the building darkness, matched the lights of the pleasure boats in False Creek. Lewis had made only one concession before changing her citizenship, she wanted to get married in her country of birth. Chuck had been the one to suggest his apartment.

Chuck put a hand over his fiancée's chair; let it dangle over one shoulder, brushing absently at her uncovered skin. He could feel the goose bumps form beneath his fingers, rubbed lightly until they disappeared again. Blair sat to his left, Aidan flanking Chuck's other side, little feet closest to the isle. The balcony only allowed four chairs on each side of the makeshift isle. There was a little story in each of those arrangements.

Serena sat in front of him, flanked on the left by every Humphrey but the one that ought to be beside her. It was proof that Lily and Rufus had defied the odds with one simple strategy; they'd decided never to get married. Serena nearly had married her own Humphrey but it's fallen to pieces. They kept falling apart, mending the broken parts and starting over again. It was like the hundreds of novels that Dan had penned since starting at Dartmouth, full of intrigue and promise at the beginning, falling short before the end. They could never seem to get things entirely right. So Serena had run off for fun and frolic and Dan had disappeared in search of that illusive life experience. At Serena's right was another of her frolics, a tall male model with perfect proportions and very little else. Dan hadn't shown at all.

Who would have guessed, that of all the couples to emerge from St. Judes and Constance, Chuck and Blair would be the strongest? Well except for Eric and Damien, but really, anything build by Eric had to be iron clad.

Anyone might have guessed that the blended Archibald and Abrams would be the weakest. They didn't look that way at first. At first glance they were the perfect little family: attentive father and educated mother, well-behaved young girl. They were everything they ought to be until you looked a little too close. Then you realized that there wasn't anything there at all. Chuck and Blair had been given a first hand view of their death. Vanessa had been six months pregnant when Nate, in front of Blair and Chuck, had asked for a paternity test. Anne and Howard had insisted upon it, suggested that with two men as best friends it'd be irresponsible for Nate to not be sure. Surprisingly that wasn't the moment that the two had fallen apart. It was immediately after. When Vanessa's face had screwed up in fury and she'd screamed at him that "she wasn't the one fucking around!" Now Chuck had always suspected that Nate was tasting more in California than the peaches but he had never been sure. His friend had learned to be discrete if not faithful. Vanessa had tried to play it off the next morning, blamed it on pregnancy hormones but the thing is, certain truths when said can't be unsaid and certain promises, when broken can never be fully repaired.

The thought had Chuck turning his eyes back to his own fiancée, rubbing at her shoulder with a little more force. She turned to smile at him and he lost himself happily in her brown eyes. Her hair was shorter than it was in high school, hung only to her shoulders. She still wore headbands to tame the sometimes roguish curls but they'd transformed with her, were more silk than patterned, blended more naturally than distracted from her natural aura. She wore pants nearly as often as skirts now, at least when in New York. They were less often damaged as she transversed the floors of Eleanor Waldorf Designs. She's traded most control of it to Harold and Roman, wanted to live the life of a university student while she was young. The time was coming when she'd take that control back, her business degree from Yale the first step towards dominance. There was a twisted irony in it. Chuck had changed his major away from business as she'd changed hers to it.

Blair leaned against him a moment, long enough for him to catch the scent of rose that was always her. She leaned away again and Chuck was happy she wasn't wearing pants today. She wore a shift dress, plunging neckline offset by a more conservative length. It was a rich green to match the theme of the wedding but that's not what drew her fiancée's eyes. His eyes were tracing the delicate dip of that neckline, the set of pearls that curled against her slowly rising chest. The paleness of her skin where...

His thoughts came to an abrupt end with a slap upside the head. He turned around, glare automatic. "Stop staring down your girlfriend's top," Damien teased. "The priest is starting to get uncomfortable."

Chuck just arched one brow at the game, laid his arms casually against the back of his chair. "Sorry Mr. Van der Woodsen," He teased right back, smirk building as the Brit's face went darker.

"_That is not my name_." Damien insisted.

"Please, we all know who wears the pants in your little family."

As if to punctuate the point Eric leaned over and whispered "Damien" at his partner. The Brit sat back as Chuck's smirk spread.

It didn't last long. Blair nudged him and snapped "Chuck" to remind him who wore the pants in their family. At least some of the time. "Chuck," Blair nudged him again. It took until she pointed for Chuck to realize that the nudges had a different context. Isabella Archibald was sitting in the chair closest to the isle. She was hanging her little three year old feet over the satin that formed the impromptu isle. That wasn't the issue. She was sticking her tongue out at Aidan who matched her posture and the game. In truth, at six to her three, Chuck's would-be-brother was the instigator, encouraging her to add her fingers, to make small noises. "Chuck," Blair tried again.

Across the way Vanessa did the same, she called out "Nate" to the oblivious boy seated between mother and daughter.

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and checked his watch. "Not my brother for another two weeks at least."

"I though it was ten minutes."

"Adoption won't clear until then," Chuck explained as he stared across the isle. He looked long enough to see Nate finally check, look beyond his daughter to his former best friend. The glare told Chuck he had yet to be forgiven for his comments at Iza's third birthday. So Chuck turned away, didn't do anything until Blair threatened to exchange seats. Across the row Vanessa demanded the same, Nate complied first of the boys, let his girlfriend handle the discipline.

In the front Lily brushed out her green bridesmaid dress. Jack shifted in his imported shoes. They checked their watches together, set off a general check around the room. "They're fifteen minutes late," Chuck provided when Blair looked over to his arm.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lewis collapsed in giggles once she saw it, the thick line of burgundy lipstick that stained one edge of her soon-to-be husband's collar. Bart was far less amused, more inclined to stare in horror at the reflection. He grabbed at one of the Egyptian cotton towels, wet it under the sink and proceeded to scrub with all his might. It only spread the stain further across the plain white. Lewis giggled harder with every inch it spread. "This is not funny," Bart assured her. He tried to put his tuxedo jacket to cover but there was no chance, he'd managed to paint the entire side of his collar to a muted pink. His face went a matching colour as he took the jacket off again. Lewis disappeared into the accompanying bedroom, returned with a replacement from Chuck's closet. Well it was an attempt at a replacement anyway. "What is that?" Bart asked as she held up the green dress shirt. There was some white between but the shirt was mostly taken up with competing stripes of light and dark green.

"Your son doesn't have anything in plain white."

"I'm not wearing my son's shirt"

"It matches the colour theme," Lewis decided while Bart glared. "It could have been worse. We could have had a purple theme. Although that would have given us more options."

"Just get Jack to find some club soda. I'll wash and dry it with Chuck's blow-dryer."

"Did you want to explain why?" Lewis arched her brow, didn't let her hand drop.

Bart grabbed the shirt instead, made the quick replacement. It was a bit snug through the shoulders but they managed to hide that with the tuxedo jacket. "So are you ready?" Bart asked with a final look at his watch, a putting out of one hand. She took it and they walked out together.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The bride and groom were a full twenty minutes late when they emerged from the bathroom in the back of the suite. They'd forgone most of the formalities of a wedding ceremony because at thirty-eight and fifty they were far beyond the romantic details. So they walked down the isle together, hadn't bothered to avoid each other the night before, had laughed at the suggestion of bachelor or bachelorette parties. They were just ready to be married. Chuck could feel the pressure building at the sight, pulled his fiancée a little closer until he noticed something. Then the pressure flipped for something else. "Why is he wearing my shirt?" He asked Blair.

"I don't know," She whispered back.

"Oh my god," Chuck noticed the glow. "They had sex in my bedroom."

"Shhh."

"I know they did," Chuck's arm went a little tighter around his girlfriend. She tried to deny it but the supportive words fell flat. She guessed it too. "I'm going to have to sell the house," Chuck decided.

Blair laughed in return. There was no chance of that. Everyone knew that Chuck Bass had a hard time letting go of his firsts. He muttered something next but the words were swallowed up by the opening prayer, entire audience falling to silence as the couple knelt together, exchanged their vows and promises. The silence reigned until the moment Bart slipped a custom ring onto his wife's finger. That's when Aidan chose to voice his discontent. His loud cry of "this is boring" spread through the general calm like a raging wildfire, brought all thirty guest's eyes firmly to the couple in the second row.

"Chuck," Blair gave him another nudge.

Chuck rolled his eyes and leaned over to the other brunette with curly hair. "If you shut up I'll buy you a new bike."

_"Chuck_" Blair called out again, this time in exasperation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Mrs. Bass held out her finger so Damien could study his handiwork on the correct finger. The entire party had moved from the townhouse to a tiny restaurant on the waterfront. Bart had rented it for the following reception. It had a similar feel to the apartment, intimate and laid back.

Damien had designed the wedding band for Lewis, had worked with a prominent New York jeweller to put vision to fact. He'd ended creating a tiny masterpiece in jade and gold. It matched the two bands of jade that had been added to the simple wedding band Bart had worn since eighteen. Lewis' ring was far from simple. From one angle it looked like a nature scene, jade disappearing and reappearing through molten and refixed gold. From another it was abstract art, a third something closer to traditional. It was in full relief: edges and valleys and gullies that spread the entire circumference. The three small but flawless diamonds that formed a break in the middle were a concession to Lewis' husband. Bart had originally bought her a traditional ring, diamond four times larger than the one Henri had given to dress her finger. He'd been quite pleased until she'd admitted that it made it four times gaudier. Lewis would have preferred to have no diamond at all but she conceded the point when Bart insisted upon it. It was a matter of pride. The ring could have cost more than his first, even at twenty-three Damien had started to collect a following but the Brit had refused payment and Bart wasn't about to go through another twenty-one years of teasing about his wife's ring. "This really turned out," Damien decided with one more turn of the older woman's slight fingers.

"It's perfect," Lewis promised before her husband stole her away.

"It really is," Eric decided as the newlyweds moved back to the dance floor. "Do you think you could design a set for us?"

That made Damien snap his head around, delight more than evident. "I thought you said you didn't want rings."

"That was two years ago," Eric responded thoughtfully. It was true then, when they'd run off the day Eric graduated. In his senior year of high school Eric had traded his Cambridge dreams for Oxford ones and Damien had married him for it. Well not married because they couldn't, but they'd registered their civil partnership, waiting only the fifteen days mandated by law. It'd been as crazy as Eric never was. They didn't announce the fact to either family, excluded most of their friends. They texted only Serena, Blair and Chuck to get their asses to the UK, left the reason deliberately vague. The three arrived just in time to stand beside Bradley Allenby and bear witness in a London courthouse. For the rest, they let it drop like a bomb on their following trip to New York, brought the shards home to shock the English relations. Lily had nearly fainted at the news. She would have a complete meltdown but Bart related the details of his own elopement. He'd wished them luck easier than his ex-wife could manage. Lily eventually did her part; put aside her devastation by planning the largest party Manhattan had ever seen.

"So..."

"Maybe in platinum?"

"Okay," Damien pulled his tie off with jumping fingers. "I have so many ideas!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"It's amazing how many calories are actually in a cream puff," Frederick Athabasca swore as Serena bit into one. "I mean it seems so fluffy so you would think it's more air that anything else. They're deceptively bad for you."

Serena ran a finger down her wine glass as her date blabbed further. She guessed that had to accept that he was more than a date. They had been seeing each other for at least two months. Serena hadn't kept an exact count. The realization that Freddie probably considered her his girlfriend by now had Serena downing the rest of the red, wave of a hand in the air for more.

"You know that wine is good for you," Freddie said, "but only one glass."

Serena waved a bit harder, remembered one of the reasons why she never dated fellow models. She couldn't even remember why she'd agreed to this one. She was probably lonely. She never liked being lonely.

"It's this stuff called Procyanidin. There's more of it in red wine, that's why it's better for you."

"Really?" Serena tried an interested smile as the waiter came forward, asked for a glass of white to replace the red. Frederick didn't even notice. His eyes were scanning the crowd, jumping between the few tables to the makeshift dance floor. They moved until they stopped on a stunning blonde at the next table. Serena hid her laughter behind her glass of white while Frederick too obviously checked out Nate.

She remembered the other reason she didn't date male models.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck and Blair had abandoned the crowd on the dance floor, fallen into one of the tables at the back. They watched the couples spin with private amusement. It doubled with the principal, with their giggles and the way his father put his hand on her stomach. Chuck laced his fingers through Blair's offered a toast with non-alcoholic punch. "Job well done Waldorf."

"Job well done Bass," She offered with a chime of her glass.

"What did I do compared to you," Chuck teased. "You're the one who got close enough to switch the little white pills."

"You're the one who managed to purchase matching replacements," Blair gave his cheek a little shove. He kissed her as he rebounded back, gave one more glance to the floor. "Definitely a combined effort."

They'd hatched the plot after their third year at Yale. It'd taken Lewis that long to agree to live with Bart. There had been genuine considerations at first. There were clinical studies at Stanford that kept them thousands of miles apart, practicums and residencies that Chuck suspected she could have chosen to do in New York. His father had been engaged since the first year but it'd taken him another two to convince her to live in the same state. Chuck had no doubt that Lewis and Bart would have figured things out on their own, but the pace was so mind numbingly slow that Chuck was beginning to think his dad would have a foot in the grave before they were finally married. So Blair had suggested they speed the timeline. After all, if a child had been enough to make Lewis marry Andrew Wiltshire, then she'd run to the altar for Bart Bass.

"So who's next?" Blair asked with a scan of the room. Chuck's eyes joined hers, surveyed their closest friends until they jointly landed on a blonde and brunette. They studied Nate and Vanessa for just a minute until Chuck put the truth to words.

"They're hopeless," He decided. They didn't say the rest. That even if they weren't, both Chuck and Blair had (in great contrast to their expectations at graduation) begun to favour a Vanessa without Nate.

So the eyes kept moving until they ran upon another important person. Serena was sitting on the other side of the room, finger still moving across her glass, boyfriend still speaking beside her. Blair and Chuck studied her a moment, brought their eyes together back in contemplation. "There are possibilities there," Blair decided it first.

"Agreed," Chuck nodded. "Except there's another project we need to consider first."

"Like?"

"Getting my favourite brunette married," Chuck returned with a smirk. "Think you could get behind that one?"

Blair gave a casual toss of her head, shorter curls bouncing once before resettling into place. "I guess I could consider," She teased.

"Would you consider something this small?" Chuck teased right back.

"No," Blair shot out immediately. They hadn't changed _that_ much. She reconsidered after a moment. "Perhaps not that much bigger." Then again, maybe they had.

"How about a hundred guests."

"That'd be good." Blair agreed. "Spring?"

"Fall."

Blair put a finger to her lips in contemplation, eyes running a bit with her thoughts. "That could be nice. Colour palate?"

He called out purple to her silver, eyes challenging each other over the difference. They lay in wait a full minute and then shrugged mutually. They'd discuss it later. "Maid of honour," Chuck deferred to easier ground.

"Serena," Blair said with a roll of her eyes. "Head groomsman?"

"Eric," Chuck returned without hesitation, expression going thoughtful before he finished the thought. "I think I should ask Dan to be my second."

Blair considered, took a quick glance over at her best friend. "I think that could work."

"Calla lilies, yellow tulips and red roses," Chuck breezed right through the flower choices.

The last question hung between them. They'd had discussions of this nature before, some progressing further and others stopping short. They all got tangled up with the last question, the one they never truly answered. Blair still put it to words again. She was the eternal optimist. "Date?"

"October 10th." Chuck suggested immediately, answer not only quirking Blair's brow but finally bringing her illusive dream closer to reality.

"As long as we don't have to wait until 2020 for the extra zero."

"How about next year, after I finish the program."

Blair accepted with a nod of her head. "Have you talked to your dad about what you're doing yet?"

Chuck denied it with a shake. He'd enrolled into an extra year, not in business school but another. "I'm waiting for a good time, like thirteen seconds after his next child is born."

"He'll be fine. He was alright with you changing business to a minor and math to a major."

"Because he said all businessmen should have a good grounding in math."

Blair pointed out the newly minted Basses. They were coming across the dance floor, arms twined and direction set. Bart was glowing nearly as naturally as his wife but without the seven months of pregnancy as excuse. "Now looks like a good time."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Vanessa," Nate didn't bother with pretending calm, with walking, he ran after her. She was worth running after. He could see her head shake once at her name but she kept walking. Until he reached her side, pulled her back in a flash of red and orange. She didn't look him in the eye, kept them to the point of one cheekbone and that's when Nate realized how far he'd fallen again. She'd loved him too much once and he'd managed to piece it apart bit by bit.

"She called my apartment," Vanessa reminded him. "Where _I_ live. Where _your daughter_ lives."

"It was nothing. It was just stupid."

"Well you're definitely stupid," She threw back and Nate took it because, truth be told, he knew he was.

"Can you look at me?"

"No Nate, I can't."

So he made her, cupped a hand under her chin. She tried to push it away but he pushed harder. Her eyes welled the moment she saw him, showed the reason she couldn't look anymore. It just hurt too much. "I love you Vanessa," Nate promised. "I've only ever truly loved you. Tell me you don't believe that." Vanessa tried to turn away again but Nate wasn't going to allow her to run away again. She wanted to say that she didn't but the problem was that she knew it was the truth. It was the conundrum that kept her fixed. So she resigned herself to saying nothing instead. "I'm moving back to New York this weekend. Everything will be different," He promised. "We'll get married..."

"I told you I don't want to marry you." Vanessa said firmly, jaw crossing at the idea alone.

"We'll get an apartment together," Nate backtracked. "We'll be a real family. There will be no one else." Nate was so sure it was the distance that led him to that end. It wasn't that he didn't love Vanessa. He did. When she was near he only had eyes for her. It was just that she was too damn far away.

"We'll talk about it later," Vanessa decided and Nate figured the battle was half won. He knew it was when he leaned down to kiss her and she didn't pull away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Dance with my _wife_," Bart said the last smugly, put Lewis' hand out in offering to his son.

"Because I love hormonal pregnant women?" Chuck taunted in return. He loved a lot of things: cracked up head doctors, washed up English teachers, even middle aged beauty queens. It was as close as Chuck would ever come to admitting that he loved his new stepmother. It was enough for that same woman, particularly when saying it didn't stop her stepson from rising with his usual flourish, taking her hand and leading her away. Blair laughed as they left, again when he turned back to give her a private wink.

"I know what you two did," Bart said as he sat in replacement of the younger Bass.

It made Blair take a deep breath, shift just the slightest. "Does Lewis know?"

"I'm not planning on mentioning it to her." Bart decided.

"My lips are sealed," Blair promised.

"We're having a girl," Bart offered next. "Thought you should be the one to tell Charles." Blair knew why. Chuck was going to owe her $5,000. He had taken the mathematical odds; she'd banked on woman's intuition. "Lewis and I have an important question for you." Blair said nothing, waited for the older man to elaborate. "We'd like you to be godmother to our daughter."

"Me?" Blair squeaked in surprise.

"Yes you."

"I thought Lily..."

"We'd both like for it to be you."

"Are you sure?"

"If you do half as much to protect my second child as you have my first, then no one could be better suited to it."

Blair's eyes went back to that first as the chords of music died to nothing. Chuck gave his stepmother another spin and then directed her back, eyes abandoning his dance partner as his true partner came back to view. Blair nodded towards Bart as his son winked at her again. Blair felt the butterflies. It might have been four years that they'd been lovers, seventeen that they'd known each other, but the butterflies still took to flight. Sometimes they made her joyful, others reflective, sometimes mischievous but today they made her thankful. She was grateful that despite everything they'd gone through and despite her once very vocal insistence to that end, their butterflies had never been murdered. Why did that make her thankful? Because right then, in the moment when Chuck retook her hand, as he pulled her to the dance floor with a smirk, Blair Waldorf was the happiest she had ever been.

At least until their next moment.

And They All Lived Happily Ever After

_No, that doesn't quite work because Blair gave up on fairy tales when she gave up on Nate and Chuck was too intent on living one day at a time to ever obsess over forever. Suffice to say that the moments of joy far outweighed those of frustration, there was more laughter than tears, and the final act ended with them together. _

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_A/N – And it's all done but the epilogue. That will come hopefully with a special gift from gossipgirlxcore ___

_Bradshawesqe – After reading your long critique I decided I agreed and have deleted the posting in question. It was an experiment for me to see what kind of sexual scene I preferred to write and I decided that I prefer the one you mentioned from the previous books. I'm not going to discuss this further._

_xcshortie – thanks_

_annablake – Thanks for pointing out the Howard error. I seem to make that every time but I usually catch myself better. And for the record, I feel more for lewis too ;)_

_flipped – hope you enjoyed the speeches. I kept them short (you know Blair would really have a three page one ready). But I hope they hit the high points._

_Xoxogg4lifexoxo – thanks for the review_

_CBIWBJ trory - Thanks for following my stories all the way through. _

_89 – No kids yet but they'll have a few in the epilogue._

_Up Next – The rest of their lives told by a very odd choice of narrator...._


	66. Epilogue

**Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After**

**Epilogue**

_Dear Anna,_

_I got your letter. The one that demanded I tell you about everything that happened after the wedding. I was a bit surprised to be asked. I mean I'm sure I wasn't your first choice. I guess Eric must have had finals and Damien had to have been too busy painting. Serena was likely chasing after rock stars and Nate was probably screwing random sluts. Vanessa must have had both her ears plugged and eyes closed to the request. I suppose Dan was scribbling the next worst American novel and Jenny was ripping fabric. Did you even ask Bart and Lewis? What do old people do with their time? Oh you tried Chuck and Blair. Well I'm sure they were too busy procreating their personal army to bother with a little letter. _

_So I guess I'd better inform you or no one ever will. I know I'm a little bit late, maybe like forty years too late but I had a life too you know. Well, sort of. At least I didn't die of a drug overdose by the age of twenty-five. So, anyway, Chuck married Blair, Vanessa never married Nate but Serena did eventually marry Dan. They, along with the prior newlyweds, all fell into a disgustingly lovey-dovey happy pit that lasted the rest of their respective lives._

_THE END_

_What? You want details? Lots of details? _

_I suppose I could do that for you. I mean you did write some rather sweet notes to me. But where to start? There is so much to tell. I know...let's start with the Golden Boy. After all, is there a person alive who doubted he'd get his little happily ever after?_

_**Eric and Damien**_

_Can you even guess how much pleasure I took in selecting Damien to be Eric's downfall? The British boy was perfect in every conceivable way. He was handsome enough to tempt even me. Well if he hadn't been gay and if I hadn't already sucked his brother behind the chapel at Changeways. But it wasn't just the physical appeal. That was secondary to the smugness born of genuine talent. I knew Eric would fall hard. Damien should have been the perfect bait for a broken heart. Well, if he hadn't been dumb enough to fall for the target. It took only five weeks for Damien to show on my doorstep and beg me to break our terms. He couldn't make me though, not when I'd been the one to save his loser of a brother. He's loyal that one. It's why I could ensnare him into my game. Unfortunately that same loyalty is what broke it. I was sorry about Tom. In some twisted way he might just have been my soul mate. If I believed in crap like that. Mostly he moaned with the most perfectly rounded lips I'd ever seen. It was a vision to behold. But anyway, what was I writing about? Ah yes. Damien has one fundamental personality trait. He is loyal to a fault. Eric is too. So really? Is it surprising that they would put that loyalty to law years before the rest?_

They'd fallen into the routine before Eric finished his first year: calls in the evenings, weekends in London at the apartment Damien never sold. It was also Eric's in essentials if not legal fact. The bookcases were filed half with reference books and the other with novels. It proved that even a move abroad couldn't alter Eric in essentials. The changes were more subtle. Eric was no longer top of his class though he was near enough to be respected by his peers.

That afternoon marked three weeks remaining to his final year and Eric had half the bookshelf pulled down to prove it. It wasn't necessary. Eric had already been accepted to every school of his choice. Not that he'd related the details to his boyfriend. There was too much pleasure to be had in a small quantity of retribution. He was quite enjoying watching the Brit come up plans for meeting between Cambridge and Oxford. "I don't think that's necessary," Eric dismissed the latest with detached neutrality and it was his boyfriend's turn, nearly two years later, to feel the panic and the impending loss.

So Damien added another slash of black to his abstract work, tried to put his thoughts to words. It was absurd for him to think that they'd end at three years when, excepting the first, those years had passed easily and happily between the two. "Eric...I..."

"I've already accepted admission to Oxford."

"What?"

"I applied there too."

"But Cambridge is your dream."

"But Oxford has other dreams." Eric pointed out, smile turning smug at the other boy's surprise. "Ones that have become more important to me."

Damien dangled the brush in his hand, stared at the lines of red and black and decided the entire presentation was entirely too dark now. He kept searching for words, this time the ones to express his happiness but they never came. So he gave out the ones that did. "I love you Eric."

"I know that," Eric said as he sat on the coach nearest his boyfriend's stool. Eric eyed the painting that always gave him his understanding first.

"I want to marry you," Damien put it out abruptly and Eric stopped breathing. His eyes went round, head not turning with each blue orb as they turned to the side. He stared at his lover, paling skin not quite matching the happier flipping of his stomach.

"Excuse me?" Eric managed to squeak out.

"I want to marry you," Damien repeated it again, idea solidifying with the second retelling, gaining permanence in both boys' heads. "And I want to do it now."

"Now?" Eric took a deep breath. "As in..."

"Right now. I want to marry you right now. I don't want to wait until we're older or wiser or for any single thing. I want it now." Damien put a hand to his lips, added three spots of red to the paler template. You could see the thoughts play out against his features, eyes moving in time. "We need a ring," He decided with a look around. "I don't have a ring."

"That's okay."

"You deserve a ring," Damien decided with another look. He hit upon something when he remembered the brush in his hand. "Give me your hand."

"What?"

Damien took Eric's left hand in his own rather than asking again. He painted a perfect line of black the full circumference of the younger boys ring finger. "There."

"In black?" Eric couldn't help but tease.

"Marry me and I'll buy you a better one," Damien promised.

"I don't want rings," Eric decided as he put the hand to his boyfriend's face, added a smear of black to the red as his fingers followed a cheekbone. "I just want you."

_From that day forward, at every interview Damien ever took, when the journalist asked him which of his work was the most personally meaningful, Damien would always quirk a brow and reply 'a single line of black'. It was only the beginning of what he would paint though. He would paint, craft and design a legacy. By the age of twenty-five he was nominated for the Turner Prize. They ought to have done their research because Damien had been mentored by a very vocal opponent of the direction of contemporary art. Damien was and would always remain a traditionalist at heart. Then again, maybe they knew that but simply couldn't ignore the young artist. He had gained a following that could not be passed over. So they nominated him in July, he showed through October and won in December. He refused the prize as they put it into his hands._

"If you can't draw, then you're not an artist," Damien smiled as he said it, took another sip of his champagne rather than the accolades. He lifted his glass across the room of stunned spectators. He didn't see any of them except the tall blonde in the back. He imagined he could see the blue in his lover's eyes. He can't. The distance is too far. Damien is close enough to see the gesture though, to watch Eric raise his own glass in solidarity. Damien winks and Eric smiles and they drink to the fervor that has been unleashed. They toast to their triumph because they'd planned every moment of it together.

_Damien would accept the Turner Prize ten years later. He'll be polite and graceful because in the interim it had changed to reflect all styles of art rather than just those meant to shock. That was all Damien had wanted. Or maybe it's just that as Eric and Damien trade their twenties for thirties everything seems to calm and mellow around them. It was different in the university years, when Damien limited himself to showing in London even at the cost of working for nearly nothing. He wanted to stay near to Eric even through the law years. In their thirties things changed. They were both established enough to be comfortable. Eric was quickly rising to one of the world's premiere lawyers specializing in artistic copyright. His name sought and feared after in equal measure. _

_Eric changed his citizenship at thirty-two and Chuck and Blair bemoaned it for a whole month. They sent him thirty-one gifts, each with a printing of the American flag. It started with pencils, progressed to stamps and stickers and finally shirts and sweaters and famed photographs. They'd have bought him the original but there were limits to even Chuck Bass' checkbook. Eric mailed them back thirty-one variations of the Union Jack. Towards the end Eric traded down for gifts to their children and hatched a plot that's been in his heart for a long time._

_Eric Van der Woodsen had always wanted to be a father and watching his best friends have three, joining those with the others of their circles, the Allenby family and all the brothers and sisters he'd acquired in heart if not blood Eric decides that it's his turn. It's not a complicated issue despite the fact that there could be no mother between the two. Jenny had put the offer to them nearly five years before and Eric had agreed to the scheme if not the timing. It's simple to call her, to discuss semantics and decide on a course of action. It's more difficult to follow through. _

In the media fallout from the Turner Prize the boys moved from their first apartment to one with security. They downgraded to one bedroom but upgraded to a view of the Hyde Park. It was a new development in historical Mayfair. They rose high above the surrounding as Eric chose to purchase near the top. The men had their own patio, a shared pool at the base of the building, a high end kitchen that they learned to cook in. There were no servants like the rest of their inner circle. What was the need? Eric knew how to pick up after himself and Damien had learned by association.

They brought the color scheme from that first apartment, tried to preserve the feel because, though they'd deny it, both Damien and Eric were the sentimental type. They decorated with bamboo, with Eric's photos and Damien's paintings. It was a perfect cohesive mix of two and their bedroom was no different. It was decorated in shades of beige and blue, pillows in plaid, comforter in solid. On that comforter were three bags, two zipped but one still hanging open. It was as fully packed as the others but Eric couldn't bring himself to close it. He couldn't. He already knew he wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't now. He had admitted to himself what he'd been ignoring throughout the whole scheme.

To have a baby they'd have to buy another apartment. That wasn't a problem. The problem was that this apartment suited them. It suited their life. They were two successful men in their thirties who had each reached the pinnacle of their dreams; Damien was a internationally renowned artist and he was an internationally sought after lawyer. It meant they made sacrifices. They traveled across the globes often to opposite ends from each other. Their apartment was only one of the places they reconnected but it was where they recharged as they packed and unpacked. It was their home base in constantly shifting demands and lives that wove back and forth into an oddly perfect tapestry.

"Are you ready?" Damien asked and Eric didn't need to turn to know his partner was waiting with jacket in hand.

"How is a child going to fit into our lives?" Eric asked it almost innocently, with softness that didn't suit his thirty-three years. He could hear Damien inhale sharply but no words came. That just confirmed every thought Eric had. "A child needs time. They can't be put in a box and mailed," Eric pointed out. Not like the packages they exchanged when it was months rather than weeks apart.

"We could figure out a way."

"How?" Eric asked as his eyes went upward, not to study the ceiling but to open his eyes enough to keep the tears back.

"I could stay home to paint," Damien offered. "Stop showing."

"For eighteen years?"

Damien ran a hand through his head and tried to make the promise come. He wanted it to. It wasn't because he wanted children. Damien was content with their life staying exactly like it was but he knew how much Eric wanted to be a father and when it came right down to it, Damien would do anything for him. "I..."

"It's too much," Eric cut him offer before the offer could come. His eyes went down and the twisting in his stomach went deeper with it. "You would be unhappy.."

"No I woul..."

"You love to show," Eric stopped him again and Damien didn't deny it. "And I love to argue, debate legal precedent and harass witnesses," Eric tried a laugh through the building heat but it couldn't linger. Not as the heat crawled through his cheekbones and forced a layer of fluid to his blues eyes. "That's who we are Damien. That's what makes us who we are."

"We could figure something out." Damien offered again but Eric had already stood there for a half hour, staring at that damned suitcase, trying to figure out a way to have it all. There wasn't a way that wouldn't begin and end with a nanny raising their child. They would never be better than two part-time fathers who, when added together, could never add to one whole.

"Maybe you're just not meant to have everything in life," Eric said with words growing shaky at the end. He shook his head to try to clear the pressure but it wasn't in his head, it was in his chest and it was slowly taking over regardless. Damien could feel the foot tapping on the carpet before he saw the tears form. Both were awe inspiring. Eric Van der Woodsen didn't cry often. It didn't mean he didn't have a gentle soul because he did. He just didn't cry. When he was angry he spoke his mind clearly and distinctly. When he was nervous he hid behind sarcasm. When he was sad he sat quietly but he didn't cry. But he was so rarely any of the three. That was purposeful. He was intelligent enough to make sure he didn't fall into the pitfalls that tripped others and good enough that people were loathed to push him either. Even at the end of a trial, when he'd destroyed the other side (which he did more often than not), the other lawyers still respected him. He had tact, and consideration and everything good. But like Eric had said, that couldn't give you everything but only stop you from ending with nothing.

"Sit down," Damien suggested softly, pushed aside their suitcases so the younger man could.

There were no wracking sobs just a muted clouding over of two beautiful eyes that ended in the dampening of cheeks. Eric Van der Woodsen was always logical and this was the logical response to lost dreams. The fist he pressed to his chest hanging over a broken heart. The tears didn't last long, chased away by the arms of his partner and the soft reassurances. The ache would last longer but eventually it would be okay because Eric always made everything alright in the end. "Will you be okay with not...?" Damien whispered as the moment passed and Eric nodded his head. "Would you like me to be the one to call Jenny?" Damien asked into his partner's cheek, kept stroking the temple with his other. Eric could only manage to shake his head again while he leaned further into the man he loved.

_It would take a while but Eric would joke about it as he stared out at all their other children, the sons and daughters of their friends and family that yelled every greeting. He'd lean over to Damien and suggest that if they had had kids of their own, then they'd have deprived a lot of others. He was, after all, awesome uncle Eric. Damien would laugh, throw an arm around his husband and decide that they had got everything in life, just not in the ways they thought they might. _

_Having everything won't stop Eric from having a midlife crisis. He is the only one in their __circle that did despite being the most likely not to. At forty-two Eric ran off to the Middle East, lived __there two years as a freelance photographer. You know what the saddest thing was; he as damn good at that too. Times bought so many of his images that they might as well have put him on staff. _

_The fact that that qualified as a midlife crisis in Eric's world. Well that really says it all doesn't it?_

_**Bartholomew and Lewis**_

_I have to admit, I was more than a bit bemused to hear that Bart had married again and done so happily. It actually brought joy into my darkened heart (not that I'd ever admit to it). In fact, even if you were to show this pretty letter for evidence I swear I would perjure myself rather than admit the sentiment. It's still there though._

_Bart and Lewis just worked together, their tendencies both good and bad seemed to match together in sometimes obvious and at other times intriguing ways. Bart still travels for work as many days as he's home and that works perfectly for Lewis. She doesn't brood with glasses of tea because she needs to be alone as much as she needs to be with others. He leaves just as she starts to feel bound, returns just as she's feeling lonely. It just works. She doesn't try to compete with a ghost and he doesn't try to compete with her need for silence or separateness. She knows that despite everything, if given the chance Bart would still trade her for his first love but it doesn't hurt because she understands the loss. She's not entirely she she wouldn't trade what she'd gained for her mother to be driving that Christmas day. So they hold hands and when they look at each other, they just know without having to put it to words. They built something beautiful with the pieces that were left. _

_Bart changes Lewis in a more fundamental way than hair color. She becomes more consistent and steadier. She learns her worth and limits her running away to marathons where Bart is always waiting at the finish line with no flowers in hand. They don't talk about that either but it shows. Lewis stops changing the outside presentation, doesn't flip between sweats, skirts and pants. She doesn't change her hair in a desire to be something just a little different from what she is. She learns to love herself along with her history and once she does she dresses in print dresses, bold colors and tiny white sandals that make Bart smile. She was, after all, just a little bit like Misty from the start. On their fifth anniversary Bart buys her a Mary pendant to replace the Antony of Padau medallion that has graced her neck since she gave the other to his oldest son. The reason? She's no longer lost. He found her. _

_Lewis changes Bart in ways that are half resurrection and half new creation. He smiles like he used to, laughs at the absurd. He takes long vacations to match his long trips and learns to cook rather than ordering in. He gets that second chance he'd wanted all along. Lewis does reeducate him, teaches him to be a better father. He starts with Aidan, learns enough that their daughter Madeline grows up to be self-regulated, calm but driven. Bart knows that it was mostly Lewis but he still hopes it was a little bit of him. He applies what he can to his oldest son but Chuck is already a man. So Bart figures his chance has passed but he still keeps trying. Years later, when his daughter graduates from Constance Billiard, Chuck will slap a hand to his back and congratulate him for being such a great father. It could have been all about Maddy but Bart chooses to believe it's just a little bit about the two of them._

_Because his life no longer has hills and valleys that he has to pull together by being the stoic middle. Everything flows easily, he never fights with his wife and his children are always excited to see him. So he doesn't have to center anything. The only problem is that nothing ever flows that easily. Sooner or later the fates show their cruelty and they were no different with Lewis and Bart. They offered a challenge that pulled at every single healed scar. _

They're lying in their bed within two hours of her diagnosis. Bart has pushed the button at the top of his phone to keep the room at a comfortable silence. Lewis has buried herself into the crook of his arm, brushing her nose against the brushed wool of his suit jacket and the unique blend of ashwood and suede that is him. They don't say much. She'd already related everything the doctor had explained and Bart didn't have anything to say in return to it. Lewis didn't need to be a psychologist to know what he was thinking. So she turns her face deeper and he tries breathing more evenly and they just don't put it to words.

Bart threads a hand through his wife's blonde hair, runs it like strings across his business suit until the navy is undone by white. He loves that hair, enjoys winding it between his fingers at night or catching it in flashes between crowded dinner parties. The fact that within two months she may no longer have it, it makes him worship with more intensity.

"Mom," The yell breaks through their calm. Lewis moves to follow it but Bart pulls her back.

"We have servants."

"Mom," Aidan yells a little louder but Lewis doesn't try to follow the second time.

"I give him three minutes," Lewis teases into wool instead.

It's less than that when their teenage son comes bounding into the master bedroom. Aidan Wiltshire-Bass was all hair with thick brown curls like his birth father. They overpowered his slender frame the same way his green eyes overwhelmed his pale face. The teen freezes when he enters the space to find two. "Sorry dad," Aidan offers through a smirk. It proves he'd acquired more from the Basses than a last name. "I didn't realize you were back." He stares back and forth between his parents a moment and then finished the thought. "I'll make Maddy and I a snack." He doesn't wait for the incline of a head before he's dashed down the three flights to their kitchen.

"I'll talk to Chuck tonight," Bart offers as the silence returns.

"I"d rather not talk to our children until we've met with the doctor together."

"Chuck isn't a child," Bart reminded her. It was true. Chuck was a thirty-two year old man with three children of his own.

"You offered him fifteen years."

"It's been ten. Besides, Chuck will understand. I mean Aidan's sixteen but Maddy's only nine." Bart took his hand from her hair to run through his own. God had a twisted sense of humor. To threaten him with the exact situation he'd already failed at once in life.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Lewis countered her husband's pessimism.

"Can you promise me that?" Bart asked and she didn't need to look up to see his clenched jaw.

"Should I quote you the percentages again?"

Bart tried a laugh but it didn't form. It didn't matter if the survival rate was nearly a hundred percent because he didn't have enough faith to overcome those last two percentage points. "I don't think I can go through that again," Bart explained instead. His voice was typically neutral but he wasn't feeling neutral. Lewis could feel the tension at every point in his body. She knew he was terrified.

"I promise you that nothing will ever happen to me," Lewis combined it with a prayer to make it true. The fact that she had faith enough for two, it relaxed the older man. "Though," She smiled into his chest, "If they have to cut of my breasts then I'm going up to a b cup with the implants."

It works. Bart manages a laugh and the the tiny shudders tickle Lewis' side. She decides that, should the worst happen, she is going to miss his laughter most.

_It never would. Lewis gets to keep her promise along with another thirty years. But the threat is enough to enact change. Chuck comes to work at Bass Industries five years earlier than the plan. For possibly the first time in his life, Chuck Bass far surpasses his father's expectations and that makes it possible for the older man to ease away from his life's work. He never gives it up but eventually Chuck takes it all the same._

_**Serena and Daniel**_

_To this day I don't understand what about Daniel Humphrey was so enrapturing. As a person he is pigheaded, only ever moderately talented and generally dull. But who am I to question matters of the heart? The closest I came to butterflies actually did turn out to be food poisoning._

_Serena and Dan never meet until he calls. Even though their parents are lovers and despite the fact that Dan has infiltrated her circle, adding a close acquaintance with each of her brothers to his preexisting friendship with Serena's best friend, they never cross paths unintentionally. They don't meet at Thanksgiving or exchange gifts at Christmas because Dan never shows up for the shared holidays. He stays at a loft on the East River while his sister marries into a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Serena is vaulted by Eleanor Waldorf Designs to other contracts, bigger shows, more publicity and fame. People stop and stare as she walks by and Serena decides she likes it but a part of her knows she likes Dan just a little more. So she waits for the calls._

_And Dan calls because he still believes in them. He still believes they will eventually get things right if for no other reason than the fact that there has to be a reason they kept falling together. He's always the one to call but the calls always end with a meeting in a middle. A place where they almost go back to the easiness of that junior year of high school. Suddenly everything seems to fit, at least until life comes calling and they remember why their puzzle pieces have warped in the intermediary period. So she runs away to another fashion show and Dan pens crime, or adventure or even science fiction. He drafts the sort of stories he can't base on his life with heroines whose hair is never blonde._

_He eventually sits down and contemplates not the coming together, but the falling apart. He never finds the reason for it, but comes to a different conclusion entirely. He realizes that their continuous circle, their push and pull has more drama than any novel he's ever written. It can't be right. It can't be sound. Stories are supposed to pike and twist to amuse from life which is meant to remain essentially straight. He's Dan Humphrey. His life isn't supposed to resemble the tabloids that follow Serena's every move. So he retreats from their game. He doesn't call her for five whole years. And somewhere in the middle Serena gets wilder but he never relates it to his absence because, honestly, what did a few whispered 'I love yous' really mean to a girl who was loved by the whole world?_

The waving hand is nothing but the norm, another curtain pulled aside and a stage assistant directing Serena and three of her model friends back behind it. Her friends pull her along because Serena Van der Woodsen doesn't chase rock stars. It's too close to the prediction whispered in Central Park to feel kosher. So Serena is pulled by the other girl. Her name is Natasha and she's twenty to Serena's twenty-six but that's okay because they've spent the same number of years in front of the camera. And Natasha is different. She was born in a tiny village in Africa, moved to Paris when she was twelve, was discovered within the year. She had a daughter at eighteen, lived enough of a life by twenty to seem older than her blonde best friend. She's different from the other models Serena knows, the girls with blonde hair and blue eyes that parade in never ending number. The girls like her. Except Serena Van der Woodsen isn't another girl. Her portfolio is five times as deep and her voice is whispered with reverence from fashion circles to pubescent boys fantasies.

She steps beyond the curtain and the spotlights no longer light her blonde locks to blue and green. She'd returned her hair to long, natural waves that still stunk of smoke from the venue's fog machine. There are the tiniest beads of sweat dangling at their roots, proof that her circle had danced through all three sets. They are led through three black corridors before falling into a larger room. It's painted in light shades, has enough flowers to make it classy except that is undone the stench of cigarette smoke. There are four musicians in the room and four of them but Serena never bothers to match up numbers. She's offered a glass of champagne and arches a brow in amusement at the guitarist. They must have known there were models coming because real rock stars didn't drink anything that bubbled and Natasha swore these were real ones. He arches his brow back and something jumps in her stomach but it can't because Serena Van der Woodsen doesn't fall for rock stars. She falls for brown haired boys living a continent away. Except it's been years and the memories were staring to fade between glasses of champagne and the arms of rich playboys. The boy's red hair almost feathers beneath a plaid fedora. He pauses before he relinquishes the glass and for the first time in years, Serena blushes. It makes him smile back, a kind of angular supposition that divides his wide face. He has a wide frame to match, hidden behind a tweed jacket. Serena hides the butterflies behind a sip, turns with panicked eagerness when she hears another of the boys greet her.

"Serena Van der Woodsen," the voice follows a hand casually dropped to her waist. The casual familiarity could have made her agitated but she didn't feel that when she turned. At her elbow was the lead singer, the exact physical opposite of his guitarist. His hair was dark, curling into thick waves. He had a boyish look to him even though Serena knew he was older than her. It was the smaller frame, the skinny jeans that emphasized it. It was in the rounded eyes and the wide nose, the pale face that smiled engagingly at her. There was something in that smile, something that made her stare longer. He was intriguing in an entirely different way. "So glad you could join us," The accented man promised.

Serena looks back at the guitarist and feels the butterflies, looks back to the singer and feels the intrigue. She decides that this is the start of some definite trouble.

_And it was. For nearly six months she bounces back and forth between the two, tiring of one, __chased by the other, tired by the other, chased by the first. There is something so intoxicating in the __pure dysfunction of it. She brings the band to the edges of falling apart, receives a wall of pure hatred __in the press for her not deliberate but no less damaging effects. Eric doesn't talk to her for those six months because it was his favorite band. Then it all ends in a messy but delightful cacophony. The band is reunited and there are whispers of a resolution that began and ended with sharing. Serena never denies the rumors but she does tire of those two. She works her way through the American Top 40, lingers on the bad, the kind of men with reputations and illegitimate children._

_But_ _Dan dates good girls, the kind you bring home to mommy. The kind that doesn't inspire anything but prose as mind-numbingly dull as good girls tend to be. So he changes things up, dates the __psychotic types instead. The girls whose eyes don't flinch when he takes them in, whose mouths are the __only plaint part and he writes with more layers. But then he remembers that Serena was never crazy and somehow the whole illusion falls to nothing and the stories stop three chapters before the end._

_There an irony in it. Serena trades up for security as Dan tries to crack his. She dates the Nate Archibald type, she even dates Nate Archibald again but it doesn't last. So she moves to men that can match a respectable exterior with a responsible interior. She turns thirty and even though the model contracts continue her interest in that life wanes. She seeks out something._

_ Dan changes between the twisted and the tame and finds there is no complete pleasure in either: one bores him and the other scares him. There is no real endings, just a lot of shaky beginnings until he realizes. He might have thought he only loved the good side of Serena but now he knows that the bad intrigues as well. And knowing that brings him closer to the illusive end he'd been seeking all along. So he breaks the silence and they spend a week in Paris seeking nourishment in one another. They hide from the world until Serena admits that she's traded rock stars for distant relations of royalty, and that this time it's serious. It might have been a challenge but Dan Humphrey never played those games so he's on the next flight back stateside. _

_He never questions why her engagement stretches into years because the fact that she's engaged, that is enough. It's also enough to remember the words he'd whispered to her on a picnic blanket and remembering that makes him angry. She'd gone on to fulfill every single one; from rock stars to princes, from remembering to forgetting. She had broken their promise and somehow that broke him. So he takes the pen and puts their life to fiction. He breaks her promise as completely as she'd broken his. He layers her whole history through barely disguised fiction and somehow it's easy to write. Somehow all the thoughts, all the doubts and fears find expression and the questions answers. He chooses her point of view, he writes her story and somehow in the process he not only finds the ending but understands it. He knows why she ended up wearing the ring of the younger son of an earl, but more fundamentally he realizes why she was never destined for him. _

_And that novel brings him fame and fortune. He sits on the bestsellers list for more weeks than even he could remember and his phone never stops ringing. Suddenly he's traveling the world as easily as she does, taking interviews but always dancing around his source. He inclines his head when they ask about his relationship with a supermodel, never says more because he still has morals. After all, he could have launched himself by publishing something related to her years ago but his moral code had never permitted what his anger does. It still isn't a biography. It's just what the title suggests: the Diary of a Very Pretty Girl._

_And Serena could have ignored it, could have left it with the other life stories, both authorized and otherwise. She shouldn't have had enough time to read it all, never mind read with the depth she does. Except four months after it debuted she was running back to New York to help fix her best friend. Blair had cracked to pieces and the sharp edges were cutting Chuck with her. So she plays nursemaid to her best friend but that best friend doesn't talk about things and Serena doesn't want to think about those things so she reads. She'll never understand Chuck and Blair. That's why when Chuck kidnaps his wife, locks them in a hotel room and swears they'll work it out on their own, Serena is almost relieved._

_But she doesn't leave the city. She takes root in her own hotel room, uses the hours to read Dan's novel and understands herself instead. She understands that it was only her pieces that were warped but maybe she'd comprehended that all along. Dan had always known himself and that had been what scared Serena because she'd spent nearly her entire life trying to find herself. Dan had consistent motivations, he was stable and balanced and well thought. Even his life experiments were rational and planned. She'd become the next Van der Woodsen hurricane always searching for a bit of information to explain why. She felt like she never matched Dan because he saw himself clearly but she only knew herself in foggy shadows. Reading her life brought her to a different conclusion. It didn't matter if she didn't understand herself because he understood her enough for both of them. So maybe their puzzle pieces didn't need to match anymore because there was nothing puzzling about their attraction to the other._

The queue at Barnes and Noble was over fifty people long when she got there, traveled a full block down East 17th Street. For a moment Serena is speechless, even motionless because this is what Dan wanted for so long. At thirty-three years old he has become what he strove for in each year that fell between. So for a moment she stares in awe of it but the whispers swallow up her contemplations and the fingers remind her that she was the jumping board. It doesn't make her angry. Nor does the slow parting of the crowd make her either embarrassed or uneasy. She's learned to accept it and she isn't above using it. Now it's just a quiet murmur she doesn't even hear as she walks into the store, right to the front table without stopping.

There's an expression in his eyes that she doesn't recognize as she holds the hardcover out. It's darker than anything she'd ever seen in them before. She would ask about it. She doesn't. It could have been the crowd. More likely it was the fear that she'd been the one to create such twisting malevolence. It almost makes her take the book back but he flips it over before she can. She wants to tell him that she didn't break apart their unspoken ritual. He was the caller, the chaser, the instigator. Then she realizes. Maybe that was the problem.

"What would you like as an inscription?" Dan asks as the crowd waits in too interested silence. "How about _have a nice life_? Or maybe _good to have know you_?"

Serena doesn't say anything at first. She waits until he'd adds the signature first, dug deep enough to create an impression seventeen pages deep. "I don't want an inscription."

"Well then," Dan slams the cover closed and holds it out to her. "Here you go."

"I want you to write a new ending instead," Serena admits and the book wavers just a bit. The face doesn't. "I want you to write a happier one. One that reflects what your pretty girl _truly_ wants."

_He didn't leap over the table and take her into his arms. She hadn't really expected him to but they did work things out. Dan penned out a shared history rather than a new ending. He put aside his reverse snobbery to shack up in an apartment he could now afford. Serena put aside her modeling __because she finally admitted it was secondary. Serena never gave birth but at thirty-five they still __ended with a child. Serena's friend Natasha died in a car accident and her ten year old daughter came to live with the Humphreys. Dan never again wrote a bestselling novel but that didn't bother him. If it took pain and anger to fulfill his potential then he'd rather take pleasure with happiness and leave the literary dream to more tortured souls._

_**Vanessa and Nathaniel**_

_I'm actually glad that Vanessa and Nathaniel never worked things out. How humiliating would it have been to have every single one of my schemes nullified within a decade. I'd like to believe that I was more talented than that. Except, in the end, it wasn't really about what happened between Nate and Serena. That was just a symptom of a much larger problem._

_There were so many different ways that the two could have found their happily ever after. If she hadn't gotten pregnant, if he hadn't been made team captain of the UCLA squad within his first year. If he had moved back to New York she might have forgiven everything for the sacrifice. If he hadn't listened to his parents, if she hadn't listened to her gut instinct. If he had learned his lesson the first time or the third time or even the seventh. If he could be a little more controlled, she a little more open-minded. If she could have been a little less insecure in his affection or him a little more in hers. Then they might have found their way. But truth was laid out years before the story moved to match it._

Vanessa wouldn't let Nate buy her an apartment until he returned from California to share it with her. She couldn't stomach the permanence of ownership. So she rented another loft in Brooklyn, a glorified box with two bedrooms and a view of cement and brick wall. It was still larger than anything she'd lived in since Vermont, with a living room that stretched the same size as her former apartment. It was more than she could afford but she permitted Nate to pay half. Not for himself, he still lived in the land of palm trees but she let him pay for his daughter. She was proud but she wasn't an idiot.

Today that apartment was paying host to a three year old's birthday party, every square inch of space filled with their closest friends and a little girl surrounded by too many boxes for life in a city. Most had been wrapped in designer paper but now that paper lay in strips between pink bows and purple ribbon. The colors matched the balloons that were strung from one side of the apartment to the other, each taped with loving care and spaced exactly right. The man who hung them hadn't needed a ladder, just a step stool and his tiptoes. He arranged everything with a father's care except he wasn't the little girl's father. He just looked the part. He was the one sitting beside her on the carpet, drawing her away from a new doll with sparkly purple hair with the promise of a marble run instead. Isabella grabbed the box happily, dumped the entire contents on a clear section of carpet, her mother sitting automatically beside. Vanessa read the instructions while her best friend constructed without them. They were the perfect little family.

Except Isabella's father wasn't in the three, he was traveling the far wall, greeting friends and talking to family. He had a gin and tonic dangled in one hand because beer reminded him of freshman year too much. Nate kept up the small talk but his eyes kept drifting back to the obvious, the couple that were sitting in the middle of the room. There was an ease between the three that he didn't want to see so he'd turn away again. He kept talking to Chuck about something. He didn't really talk to Chuck much anymore. There were hints of their former affection, they'd arrange runs or cross paths while in New York. It was just hints of something that used to be. Sometime after first year Nate had replaced Chuck with Marcus Anders. It just fit better. Marcus hadn't reformed himself.

"Isabella really seems to like Adam," Chuck touched the topic and it made Nate wince. Maybe the words had been purposeful or maybe Nate just wanted them to be.

"Sometimes I think that Adam is her father," Nate offered between sips. He wasn't talking fact, they'd proved that years ago. "And I'm just the Uncle Nate."

Chuck stared at his friend and even if the man was slumped at the admission Chuck couldn't make him feel better for it. That was the division that guaranteed they'd never be close again. Chuck could forgive Nate anything that had been done to him, forgive him Blair but Chuck couldn't quite forgive his best friend for not being a proper father to the little blonde girl because, to Chuck Bass, family was sacred. "You only have yourself to blame for that," Chuck returned instead.

Nate turned to him in disbelief, glass dangling a bit further to one side. The blonde had accepted a lot of things, his best friends journey to sobriety, academia and even responsibility but he couldn't accept judgment. Chuck understood that as the blonde walked away without even a backward glance. It didn't made him sad. He just wished Nate would take the words to heart in more than offense.

_If Nate had then the story might have ended differently but it didn't. Nate was never proud of cheating on Vanessa. He considered each impropriety a slip, a mistake that he tried to correct. The problem was he never got any better. The sins multiplied instead, pushing him gradually down a slope until he hit the point where he realized the bottom was closer than the long climb back up. He still didn't give up because, as much as Vanessa, Nate truly believed when he came back to New York that mountain would transform back to a hill and Nate could jog hills without breaking a sweat. People always forgave Nathaniel Archibald and, though he'd once considered otherwise, he knew Vanessa would as well. She'd been forgiving him since Serena. So he lived in his own fairytale._

_And Vanessa lived in hers. Except she never was interested in crumbling castles and graying princes. She'd probably have left both within six months of first year except for Isabella. Her daughter didn't stop her from leaving six months after the last though. Nate moved back to New York, walked into a job as head lacrosse coach at Brown, walked into a fully furnished apartment on the Upper East Side. He could have walked into a dream but he made it a nightmare, took only six months to snap Vanessa's last illusion. The person he snapped it with, that was enough to start a cold war that would never thaw. Nate had an affair with Jenny Humphrey. One single event setting off a chain reaction: breaking his friendship with Marcus, breaking hers with Jenny, breaking them apart forever. It got nasty. Nate and Vanessa didn't even talk for years, Nate seeing Adam Starr as much as his own daughter. Sometimes he thinks Vanessa did that on purpose because every time the filmmaker crossed the Archibald apartment with Isabella in tow Nate's eyes couldn't help but drop. He couldn't help but stare at the band of gold that proved he'd screwed things up forever. And sometimes, that really hurt._

Adam Starr lived in a loft apartment near the bridge but on the Brooklyn side. It was as small as Vanessa's had been but the views weren't cement and brick but an urban playground and strip of water. That made it more beautiful. He had mismatching pots but thousands of dollars in audiovisual equipment, stained furniture but a priceless antique writing desk. Adam and Vanessa weren't sitting in either tonight though. They'd started in both but that was before the wine. They'd started drinking when Vanessa had arrived even though they didn't usually have more than a glass over dinner. Isabella was at her home, Vanessa's parents took the train from Vermont to help her though. They'd pushed her out, told her to go see some friends and that's what she had done. That's why Vanessa was sitting with Adam, backs to ripped brown fabric, trading red wine glasses back and forth like water.

"Did you really throw all his clothing out the window?" Adam asked, pushed his thick hair aside to listen to her answer. He didn't really need to. He already knew. You couldn't litter an avenue on the Upper East Side with clothing in thirty-two shades of blue and not have everyone know.

"Well not the belts," Vanessa smiled back at her best friend. "That would have been irresponsible." It would have been. Nate had bought them a penthouse apartment after all. "I mailed his lacrosse equipment," She added, almost to forgive the other imprudence. "To the family townhouse in the Algarve." She finished with a deeper giggle. Adam held up his wine glass in toast, chimed once and matched her sip. It was their second bottle, first lying on the floor beside them. There were candles too but it didn't mean what you think. Adam really liked candles. "How was your media tour?" Vanessa asked next. Adam had traveled the globe to support his latest flick. Even at twenty-eight he was already building a following with his mingling of indie and mainstream appeal. He wrote some of the most twisted fiction and shot in a way that underlined every entangled point.

Adam just kind of shrugged his shoulders. "Long...and lonely. I missed your banter," Adam admitted without looking her way. He couldn't quite bring himself to. Vanessa leaned closer anyway, let her shoulder brush his as her lips disappeared behind her cup. A long silence stretched between them, the kind that dissolved the humor of retelling, left Vanessa with only the shocked truth of what she had done.

"Was I wrong?" She had to ask. No matter what Nate had done, he was still her daughter's father and that was the fundamental problem. She didn't want to be weak but she also didn't want to be the means of destroying her own family.

"Only in taking so long to do it." Adam assured her.

Vanessa shook her head but even the offered truth couldn't quite banish the second thoughts or tide the tears that formed because of them. "I just thought that he loved me."

"He probably does," Adam had to admit. "You are, after all, so damned loveable." He tried with a nudge of her shoulder with his. Her smile cracked but didn't hold so Adam tried harder. "Vanessa, this has nothing to do with you. It is entirely about him."

"I guess...I just..."

Adam shifted away from Vanessa but only far enough to cup her chin and focus her watery eyes for the next few words. "You are wonderful. You are beautiful, and smart, and such a great mother, and friend, and..." Adam cupped her cheek as the blush stared. "He is a stupid man." He promised as he brought his eyes closer, waited with an impish smile to see if his message cleared.

Vanessa laughed once under the praise, turned her head until her brunette hair brushed his lips, turned her face back to find her own lips nearly doing the same. She didn't pull back. He didn't either. They just kind of hung there until the words came. "And what about you?" Vanessa asked, voice low enough for the sound to tickle his throat. "Are you stu..."

He swallowed the thought with his lips, kissed her until she arched her back into him, proved that Adam Starr was never a stupid man.

_He asked her to marry her six months later and Vanessa agreed thereby fulfilling the prophesy Nate had whispered at a crowded birthday party. Vanessa and Adam were married within a year, Vanessa giving to her best friend what she had denied Nathaniel for three. Perhaps it was a bit fast but, truth be told, Vanessa had loved Adam for years rather than months. They would go on to travel the world and add another two more children to their first (though they never said it aloud they considered Isabella to be theirs, and even though she had blonde hair instead of brown, Isabella truthfully was more Starr than Archibald). Adam Starr Jr. was well named being the spitting image of his father, Mahogany picking up her mother's unused genes. They had private tutors until high school because once Vanessa had pulled her blinders clear, when she finally turned her eyes from the blonde to find the friend that had loved her all along, then Vanessa didn't want to be parted from him. Adam reached heights no one could have predicted except maybe little Vanessa Abrams who had known her husband was a genius first._

_It took Nate another three years to marry. He chased after the illusion that perhaps Vanessa had been the wrong person, that he could be nobler. He recast more beautiful woman, more educated woman, richer women, younger women. He dated his way through half the Upper East Side, even reconciled with Serena for a period (it ended as insignificantly as the first) before he finally gave up his own illusions of integrity and acknowledged who he was. He was a man who lived for the chase, the romantic build up, and tired quickly of anything remotely resembling suburbia. Once he knew that he married quickly and his wife of choice completed their messed up circle but, in hindsight, was the very best choice. He married little Jenny Humphrey. _

_Except she wasn't little anymore. Jenny had been a stunning girl in high school but she had transformed into an amazing beauty in adulthood. That's not to say that she bartered her beauty for a life on Park Avenue. Jenny had always had a girlish fascination with Nate and that did transform into a love like Vanessa had had. Except Jenny wasn't anything like Vanessa. She was a lot more liberal. Her husband valued her and protected her and said yes to all her whims. He gave her everything except fidelity and Jenny was maneuvering enough to accept the fault. Nathaniel had, after all, learned to be discrete. She used his name and his bank account to launch herself to stardom, built a label to battle Eleanor Waldorf Designs and a name in society to rival any of the girls who'd looked down at her in high school. She was a success in every way that mattered to her. She had no regrets._

_Some days Nate had regrets. Some days he wished Jenny could have been a bit more nurturing, that she could care as much their sons Fredrick and Foster as his first love seemed to the girl. Maybe then the boys wouldn't have moved through school with the nickname 'the two f-ers'. Then again, that might have been more his fault. Sometimes he wished she'd get mad at him but she never did. Sometimes Nate just wished that Jenny was a little different. Then he'd remember, he had doubts with every girl he'd ever held, with Serena, with Blair, and even with Vanessa. It was his nature. So he washed those doubts away with a glass of gin and tonic, another fling and the triumphant realization that he'd ended with the most beautiful wife. And most nights that was more than enough. _

_Most days Nate knows he loves Jenny more than any of them because she took him despite everything. Vanessa had fallen for him with the illusion that one mistake wasn't a pattern. Nate had wanted to believe that too. Jenny knew the whole truth before she chose him. Most days that's why he loves Jenny most. Nate just wishes it could be all the days because those other days suck._

The Archibald family lived in a penthouse near the apartment Blair once lived in. It towered over Central Park, over most of the surrounding. It took up three floors, was decorated with a designer's exacting touch. It was the most beautiful of their entire circle, Jenny's artistic eye surveying every step. There were imported marble counter tops even though neither of them cooked, rich cherry wood furniture and flawless silk for window dressings. Everything Jenny did was flawless, from their wedding that was larger and most impressive than any of his friends, to the two boys that were the spitting image of their father to the fashion line that had generated more buzz than New York had seen in years.

Jenny Archibald was flawless. She walked into a room and had every eye turn to her, and their own house was no different. Everyone glanced at the hostess in the perfect blue cocktail dress, with the shining hair and the flashing eyes. Everyone but Nate because on that night his eyes were glued to the television. It was an enormous set, stretching the entire wall of their main entertainment area. Jenny had conceded to allow it mostly because aside from his meanderings she didn't have to make concessions. The room was filed to capacity with friends and family, all except two guests sipping champagne and feasting on gourmet hordevors served by short boys in white uniforms. Jenny Archibald always threw the best parties and her Oscar party was bigger and better than the best. It had to be. "Iza" Nate yelled through the one room to the other, "You mom is on television." He didn't say her father was too. He was his father.

Isabella ran into the room, an eighteen year old vision in floaty purple. She dragged the Bass boy behind her. Well I suppose he was as much Wiltshire as Bass. His name was Aidan Wiltshire-Bass after all but everyone knew which of the last names was dropped in common use. The rest trailed behind her. Even though she was six years older Isabella always dragged her younger brother and sister with her, their stories starting to intermingle with Nate's own children. Some days Nate thinks his oldest daughter does it on purpose. Then he remembers that she is no more manipulative than her mother. Isabella squeals when they announce the nominees for best screenplay, yells out "Uncle Chuck, Auntie Blair," because it was the Bass name that had funded her father's latest project. Nate gives another glare at his former best friend for it. He doesn't really blame him. Adam was a genius and if Nate had a little more drive or a little less hurt he'd have sponsored him too.

When Vanessa's husband wins Isabella kisses her boyfriend and Nate glares at a different Bass. He has to because it just another piece of the puzzle that is slowly assembling around him. He is left with a glass of gin and tonic and the nagging question of why everyone seemed to leapfrog him to great success. He'd watched Blair better her mother's successes, Serena reach the pinnacle of fashion, Eric become an internationally renowned lawyer, Dan finally manage one bestselling novel, Chuck equal his father in business smarts and drive, and now even Vanessa had managed an Oscar-winning replacement. They'd all reached high, pulled the stars down to meet them as they soared upward. Nate sometimes thinks that's why he grabbed onto Jenny, held tight so as not to be left behind. It still wasn't quite the same but he'd down his glass and pretend it was better.

But it was hard in that moment. When the camera panned onto the happy couple and Nate was forced to remember that Vanessa had once looked at him with eyes like that.

That's why he could pretend a lot of things but in that moment it was so fucking hard.

_The feeling will pass as easily as it comes, reappearing and disappearing enough to have Nate reflect but rarely question. It never lingers because nothing even lingers with Nathaniel Archibald. He does learn the lessons though. He turns into the husband that never forgets a birthday, never slights his wife in public, lavishes attention on his children. He'll be good enough because he remembers being not good enough already cost him one family._

_Vanessa is always good enough and though she never attains greatness she is content to have reformed her first family. She enjoys following her husband through the world, being his support and a full-time mother to her three children. When Isabella turns thirteen they purchase an apartment on the Upper East Side. Her daughters attend Constance Billiard and her son St. Judes even though Vanessa spent years turning her nose at both. She understands now that she has children. She learns to appreciate the advantages of wealth. But she never forgets who she was and what her dreams once were. She joins Eric in the Middle East for six months, films what the younger boy photographs and pens a documentary about the education of young women. It is neither a commercial nor critical hit. It's pretty much nothing but she's content in having finished something. She's happier to have a hand in convincing Eric to return to his own family._

_**Charles and Blair**_

_I'd like to have believed Charlie fell from the wagon at some point in their lives. After all, who could one tumble so repeatedly and then never again? Sometimes I make it up in my mind, imagine that when he traded textbooks for trade or marriage for children he cracks and falls apart. It's more interesting than the truth. He never does and that's pedestrian. It's not that he doesn't think of it, doesn't get scared and want to run away but like his reckless tendencies Charlie finds other ways to express it. Far more boring ones. He's protected from the outside too, gathering genuine friends and family close enough to sweep through the moments when his will isn't enough._

_Sometimes the reality makes me angry but that feeling doesn't linger anymore. Not once I remember that Charlie Bass wasn't the one to destroy me. In fact, he was the one who tried to save me. It's too bad he was only eight years old. He might actually have managed to do something. But still when I think of what he tried, I almost feel guilty for how I repaid his kindness. _

_Don't worry. The feeling never lasts. Not when I remember that Charlie managed to get everything back. Charlie Bass always manages to land on his feet. His life might twist through a lot of darkness, but he always walks a blessed path.  
_

Chuck feels lightheaded by the time he looks into the bathroom mirror. He hadn't managed to eat much that morning to start with and depositing most of what he had didn't help matters. He splashes the cold water on his face, takes care not to dampen the collar of his dress shirt or the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket. He runs cream between his fingers and tries to rub away the floating and dipping that has returned to his stomach. He's pretty sure he shouldn't feel this scared. I mean he's heard the stories of cold feet but his feet weren't cold. His stomach was punishingly uneasy. It shouldn't have been. Chuck Bass has no lingering doubts about marrying Blair, he had had no doubts to begin with. He just has this irrational fear that seemed to plague every major life moment. So he splashes water again and is thankful his stomach has nothing left to give. He presses his palms harder into the granite to try to calm the rapid pulse at the base of each. When he looks up he sees Eric standing behind him, toothbrush dangling from one hand, mischievous smirk dressing the young man's features.

"You brought my toothbrush?" Chuck asks with disbelief.

"That and a paper bag," Eric admitted as he pulled the other from his pocket. "I wasn't sure which way you'd go."

Chuck turns his head back down to the sink, shakes his head in a cross between amusement and embarrassment.

"Need I remind you that the ceremony includes a kiss," Eric arches a brow and leaves the rest unsaid. The part that reminds him he doesn't want Blair's first experience as Mrs. Bass to be an exchange with vomit breath. Chuck grabs the toothbrush without words. Eric provides a travel tube of toothpaste and Chuck erases the remnants of his fear.

Within five minutes they're both in the other room, Chuck fixing his boutonniere and Eric reclining in the main chair with one foot dangling across the opposite knee. A knock and they're both standing to nod at Dan as he turns his head around the door. "They're ready for us." The Brooklyn man offers before departing again.

Chuck unbuttons his tuxedo jacket in nervous ritual. He goes to rebutton but his fingers don't easily cooperate. Eric offers the paper bag before Chuck realizes why. The younger brother holds a photo of Blair in the other hand. It makes Chuck want to check his brother's jacket, see if it it outfitted like James Bond. He doesn't. He doesn't need the paper bag either, at least not after the photograph. He stands straighter, turns his buttons and follows the Brooklynite into the main area. He doesn't make it to the between the pews before he's accosted.

"Uncle Chuck," Aidan stomps his seven year old feet up to his younger brother. His brown curls flop from side to side as he walks, arms crossing as his face turns red with frustration. "Make Isabella leave me alone. She's following me everywhere."

"She's supposed to follow you," Chuck reminds the boy. "She's the flower girl and you're the ring bearer."

"She's annoying," Aidan stomps his foot a little and Chuck is taken back to a certain overbearing toddler. "She talks all the time. I can't make her quiet!"

"Try kissing her," Chuck suggests as the young boy's face screws up in disgust. "It always worked for me."

"I'm not kissing a girl." Aidan swears as he catches sight of his tail. He takes off to the other room with a stunning blonde running behind.

_'Definitely a Bass'_ Chuck whispers as he follows Eric beyond the chapel doors. He walks the isle that Blair will follow in moments, inclines his head to their guests. The entire church is dusted in flowers. The white, red and yellow compete but they are Chuck and Blair's arrangement. Chuck barely has time to take his place at the front before the music starts and when he turns to his best man he guesses that was planned as well. Eric squeezes his arm before both their eyes go together to the back.

Vanessa begins the progression and Serena follows her. Chuck doesn't think to put his eyes to Dan, to check if their plot had been successful. He catches a flash of white and he forgets everything, the fear and even the fancy. Every thought it washed clear, leaving only one consideration. He has never seen Blair look as stunningly beautiful as in that moment. It's not the Waldorf original, it's not knowing she'd designed it herself. It isn't the way the white straps reflect off her porcelain skin, or the way her hair is perfectly curled and pinned. It's not the flawless make up or the hand sew crystal shoes. It's her.

It's watching her slow path, the dusting of white, the final fulfillment of every single one of those dreams. There is no field of white daisies. In fact, the ones she holds are yellow but it's that same feeling. It's not the physical embodiment of his dreams but the feeling that always accompanies them. It's total freedom, the sense of ease and the intoxicating understanding that the moment her hands touch his that it will be forever. They'll be joined from that moment forward in law as well as heart, before god and every single witness. The realization has him put his hand out even though she is still more than a few steps away. He wants to hurry them to the combined truth.

_Once they reach that moment Chuck wishes for the opposite. He wants time to hold forever to preserve the feeling of that hand, that smile, the sparkling of her eyes. He wants life to progress at half the speed so he can have double the years to spend with his wife. They purchase a townhouse and spend weeks christening ever square inch. They try to cook but they take more pleasure in selecting the perfect chef. They redecorate and host friends to celebrate every accomplishment. Their marriage is melded out in their shared space, half her and half him but cohesive in the borders between._

_Blair forgives him the extra three years it took to marry because the three years after fulfill ever fantasy she no longer bothers to imagine. She hardly remembers the fight to that moment until she lies in bed one night and puts the idea of children forward. The total paling of his face is too familiar. It brings it all back._

Chuck wondered if it always had to be like this for him, fearful of every life changing moment, every significant decision that didn't begin or end at work. It's not that he wasn't confident because he was. He'd removed the smug feigned arrogance of a life ago with genuine confidence. He acted definitively, could both discipline and convince. He usually didn't question himself. It was simply the fear. And he didn't fear everything. In fact he feared very little. The fear only emerged with those he loved best and that was the basis of it all. It was all about love. Chuck could never forget how easily love had been taken away from him. It made him cautious with the few who held his heart. It made him question, doubt and fear change because in his life, change had been as bad as good.

Blair was reclined in the chaise at the foot of their stairs when he finally climbed down them, slim ankles tucked beneath as she waited. She had a magazine in one hand but she traded it for a sleepy smile when she saw him. Her slim cut blue skirt was folded over in the front, white piping drawing attention to the crossing detail. The slim white blouse stopping short of her shoulders but hanging lower through the base. They were supposed to discuss their issue over dinner but Chuck was planning to preempt that. He fondled the packet of papers in his pocket and felt the jumping in his stomach. A part of him wanted to flee upward again.

Blair put her hand out when Chuck reached it, waited for him to help him to standing but he didn't. He took the five folded sheets from his pocket and pressed it into her hand instead. "I want to have children with you," He promised as he gave every reason why that same idea scared him. How could it not? He had as his parental influences a mother who had killed herself and a father who had only ever done the wrong thing. He'd reconciled the first years before but they had never discussed the second. Bart might have improved with his daughter but Chuck was trained as his son. He was so afraid of making the same mistakes, repeating the same history. And, truth be told, Chuck is pretty sure Blair knows it all without the ink. She just needed his permission to broach it. "Maybe we could order in and you could read," Chuck suggests as she flips to the first page. She nods and he escapes but only to debate food choices in the kitchen.

By the time he returns she has a page of her own for him, a listing of all the ways he differs from his father. She hands it wordlessly back and they don't end up discussing things that night. They don't have to now because both arguments have been penned. Chuck takes the paper and makes photocopies, glues one beside the list of reasons he's not like his mother, tapes another to the inside of his teaching desk, another to his mirror in their shared bathroom and folds one into the glove compartment of his Porsche. He keeps them there until he's read each enough times to quell any residual fears. By then there's nothing left to do but admire his wife's slowly rounding belly.

C_hildren fit easily into their life and before Chuck ever expresses it Blair knows that's why her husband has constructed their lives the way he had. When they talk about it, that's when she knows for sure. Chuck chooses to be a teacher because he chooses to not be like his father. He doesn't want to be a father that disappears and reappears but a consistent influence. So Chuck talks to Lewis and she talks to Bart and somewhere in the middle they come to an agreement that doesn't involve yelling or threats. Bart agrees to leave his son to his own devices for fifteen years provided Chuck spends two evenings per week learning what he needs to. It's one of those evenings that his life changes forever._

Chuck is still wearing a suit when the time comes. It's blue which fits that moment because they've known since the twentieth week that they're having a boy. Chuck very nearly runs into the hospital with his father in tow. The elder Bass waits outside with the rest of his family but Chuck arrives to the delivery room in time to put his hand out, to have it returned within the hour with five scratch marks. Blair had the epidural within thirty minutes, the scratches were closer to remnants of fear. It takes her until that moment to realize, in questioning Chuck's precedents she had never considered hers. For a moment she realizes she's as likely to become Eleanor as Chuck is to Bart. So she squeezes and Chuck lets her regardless of the motivation.

The gathered family expands outside the delivery room as the tiny family within expands to three. Chuck watches everything that happens with a critical eye, questions everything the doctor does but only in his mind. He'd never forget that his mother had nearly died giving birth to him and even though his biological sister came easily, Chuck doesn't quite trust that the fates wouldn't reserve the failing hand for him. Blair relaxes after that first hour. She goes strangely calm. It confuses Chuck because all the birthing experience he has is what they show on television. He's pretty sure that his wife should be cursing him, damning the doctor and generally screaming. She's trading barbs with the whole room instead. It must have been the epidural. Chuck prods her to breathe, uses all those skills he'd learned in that awful prenatal class. Who ever thought it was a good idea to herd twenty pregnant woman into one small room? He still uses what he's learned, pushes back her curls and kisses her forehead. It's very nearly dry and Chuck decides it's fitting. Blair would never chose to sweat.

Their first child is a vision with Blair's doe eyes and his broad chin. After the doctor wipes him clean he's passed to his father. Chuck almost hesitates at first because he was never the boy to hold babies, to make eyes or tickle toes. Aside from his sister Chuck has never held a baby before. So he almost freezes but then his son opens his eyes and suddenly Chuck wants to do it all. So he stares at the little unfocused eyes, touches the tiny feet that are half him and half Blair. He makes faces without even realizing it. He counts all the fingers and toes before Blair's voice breaks his reverie and reminds him that he wasn't the only parent in that room. She's staring up at him with those mischievous eyes. He guesses Quinn will have the same as he lays their first beside her. She studies the dark eyes as fully as Chuck had done. When she looks up her smiles melds to his. All the fears he had had were washed out the moment he saw their blending. He knew. This was the start of something good. And the realization makes him cry.

The tears will have dried by the time he opens the door and presents his son. There will still be a telltale red and the rest will stare at it. A few of them will have seen him cry once or twice before but that was before things had settled through. After that year Chuck only cries in front of one brunette. Until one little hand hits his and then Chuck knows; here in his arms is another brunette to make him cry.

_Chuck and Blair work to construct this perfect world where Chuck Bass can teach school in the mornings and Blair Waldorf can limit her involvement to Eleanor Waldorf Designs to afternoons. They develop the idea that they can be perfect parents. They embark on their new journey with untamed enthusiasm, convinced that they are going to undo the damage of their parents within a single generation._

The younger Bass apartment was halfway down the street from the other, piled gray brick rising up into yellow painted wood, tangling ivy twinning either post at the entrance. Blair had painted the entrance door purple on a lark, Chuck convincing her to keep it. They hire a household of servants to cook, to clean but never to take care of their children. Chuck never had a nanny growing up and it was a tradition he was adamant on repeating. That's why when Blair returns home from Eleanor Waldorf Designs her husband is wrestling his two oldest sons on the living room carpet, six year old Quinn working in team with his five year old brother Elijah (Eli for short). They don't truly have a chance to better their father but Chuck puts on the show. He let them pull him side to side, grabs the younger around the ankles while the older grabs his. It isn't long before the three fall as a mess to the carpet. Blair arches her brow at the sight.

Her daughter jumps down from the sofa the moment she sees her mother. She totters across the room in uncovered excitement and a fluffy white dress. Blair puts a hand under the tulle to pull her for a kiss. "Your father is being very silly," Blair whispers into her daughter's ear, remnants of a smile still playing at her lips. Blair waits another moment but when her husband still doesn't notice her, she clears her throat loud enough to get his attention. "I think Audrey dumped her sippy cup in your students' Calculus finals," Blair calls out with a look at her husband's patent leather briefcase. That has Chuck shove his two sons off in panic. He jumps up and runs across the living room, grabbing at his case only to find it as pristine as when he'd tossed it there earlier. He lets it drop back down and arches his own brow, hair still bent and crushed to a general mess. "I had to do something to get my coming home kiss," Blair points out.

Chuck never had to be asked twice.

_The only problem is that there is no perfect world. Chuck Bass wasn't meant to be a teacher. He was born to inherit Bass Industries. Reality comes knocking at tens years in the form of a sick wife and a plea to put aside constructed fantasies. Chuck goes to work at Bass Industries shortly after his daughter turns one. Blair gives control of Eleanor Waldorf Designs to her father, stays home with her children every day. They try to preserve their construction but Blair Waldorf wasn't meant to be nothing beyond a mother._

_That's not to say that she doesn't love being a mother because she does. There is just something monotonous in the repetitiveness of every day. It's just something about changing diapers when the rest of her circle of friends are traveling the world. And her body is no longer the same. Blair had lobbied very hard to have a third. She wanted a girl and got her hearts content but that girl had changed her in a way that the boys never did. There are so many marks across previously pristine skin. And she's fat now. At least to her own eyes. No one else would consider a size six to be too large but she does. She's used to being a size two. Then suddenly her husband isn't a high school teacher anymore, he's helping to head Bass Industries. Instead of small dinner parties amongst friends they have huge galas where the women stare at her husband and then stare at her. Then Jenny launches her own fashion line, poising herself to better what her mother spent a lifetime building. Suddenly it's about every single thing. Blair Waldorf has nothing left but an absent husband, three young children and a body that depresses her at every look._

_So she falls back into old habits but it's not like before. She has a family and a husband who worships her. She promises herself it's just a diet. She just needs to lose a bit of weight so she doesn't lose her husband. Once she's done then she'll stop. It's just too easy with Chuck flying here and there, gone as many days as he's here. It's easy to skip a few meals or dispose of a few others. She promises it's just until she fits into her old clothing. But of course she never wears old clothing and somehow she keeps buying new clothing in progressively smaller sizes. But Chuck doesn't realize. He's too busy trying to master his last five years of training in five months. He's too worried about his father's family to notice his own until Eli offers up the evidence. His middle son asks, in a fearful six year old voice, if his mommy is getting ill like grandma Lewis. _

_And somehow, even after everything is settled, his not knowing will always sit heaviest in his heart. It was too much like the other time. It proved that he hadn't learned to listen longer, look closer or think harder. So he has to content himself with trying the most. And he attempts every course. He confronts and commiserates in equal measure. He calls Serena and she's there within a week. He sends her away within two when he realizes the blonde supermodel is causing more problems than solving. He sends his own children to England but that makes her hate him more. He doesn't flinch as she lashes out because he knows it's not him she's really angry with. She plays games and he plays along because sometimes that's the way it needs to end. He finally quits everything, drags her to 1812 and locks them behind an oak door. He keeps them together until they are either fixed or broken beyond repair._

_But they can never be broken again. Not when they re-glued their rough edges to fit together in perfect cohesive disorder. So it only takes seven days for the bravado to be traded for honestly and distance exchanged for intimacy. When she lays spent in his arms he knows that not only is it going to be okay this time but it's going to be okay every single time from that moment further. _

The room is dark when Blair finally breaches the last distance, a few inches to lay fully beside her husband. It was some time in the morning but Chuck didn't dare move to check the exact hour or minute. He wanted nothing to disrupt that moment. His wife clings closer to him, winds a slender arm above and a slender leg below and Chuck feels at home for the first time in nearly two months.

"I'm sorry," Blair whispers into their stillness. It takes only those two words to erase that whole week of hell, the month and a half of purgatory that preceded it. "It wasn't your fault."

"I understand," Chuck whispers back and Blair pulls closer to him, turning her face upward until their breath mingles to match their bodies. She doesn't kiss her husband and he doesn't attempt it either.

"I just lost sight of everything."

"It's easy to do."

"I..." Blair starts but Chuck shushes her as her voice cracks.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Chuck winds his arms tighter in reassurance. He stares down at his doe eye princess and sees her again. They'd talk about every single thing.

"I was so unhappy," Blair admits and the truth tears that little hole in the center of Chuck's heart again. The one that reminds him that he had failed again.

"We'll figure out what makes you happy." Chuck promises.

"Together," Blair offers her own promise and the thought sews the hole closed again.

_They do. They remember the truth together too. That they are both happier when they don't play at make believe. So they trade little fantasies for reality and together find a compromise. Chuck gives up his perfect family dreams for one that includes a nanny. Blair founds a venture that ends in rediscovering herself and her husband stands behind her for every step. _

_ Chuck learns something else important in the process. That he can be his wife's rock the same way as she has been his. That he can offer solutions that last longer than a line of permanent ink. So maybe it had to happen once so that it could never happen again. Maybe Blair had to know too. _

The ballroom is draped in pearlized pink and blue balloons. They are taped into every inch of the ceiling, match exactly the silk that drapes all four walls and the tiny catwalk in the middle. It doesn't need to be large because the models who walk it are between the ages of five and ten. The sign behind is hand crafted in imported silk. _Little Waldorf_ is spelled out in pastels, a sign post of Blair's new venture. It is the perfect blend of who she was, who she is and who she aspires to be.

Chuck watches his wife for a long while because the picture makes him smile. The shine is back to her eyes, the straightness to her posture and beauty to her parted lips. She is radiant in every conceivable way, laughing with teasing and watching everything with self-assured contentment. She may have given up the name years ago but Waldorf is back. You can see it in every confident movement Chuck would have kept watching but in that moment she has turned to watch him. She beckons him with a hand and he's beside her before it waves.

"You're a success," Chuck whispers into the nape of her neck as he reaches her and Blair sighs like she hasn't for a year.

_They build upward from that moment. Blair goes back to her father, asks for control of all of Eleanor Waldorf Designs and he gives it without question. She masters drawing if not sewing. She betters Jenny not in schemes but with actual talent. She betters her mother but not only in fashion. She betters her at home as well. Her children grow up happy._

_Her husbands reaches as high, brings forth all the brilliance that had appeared in flashes through the years. His brother Aidan, who heads the second largest company in New York at the age of twenty-one, waits only seven months after the death of his biological grandfather to approach Chuck. They combine their inheritances to create the largest real estate development company in the entire world. Chuck finds his own Jack in the younger brother. He learns to find the balance that eluded his father for years._

_And that father? Bart can only look on in unmasked approval. To Chuck that will always be worth more than any multimillion dollar contract._

Aidan's main board office isn't that different than the one that Chuck holds sway over. The buildings are only five apart to start, and the long slab of brushed oak is almost familiar. Neither is the board itself that different, a collection of men in suits all older than the two Bass men sitting together at the head of the table. Every one of their faces is dusted in red, postures enraged even though Chuck knows they must have half expected the entire proposal. The business papers had been predicting a merger between the Wiltshire and Bass companies since the moment Aidan took the helm. Not that they could produce evidence. After all, who could differentiate between a business meeting and a family brunch between brothers? It was brilliant because of its simplicity.

Aidan runs a hand casually through his hair. It wasn't long anymore, he'd cut it to manage the curls, to present a more businesslike edge. He put the hand back to his hip, bent casually at the elbow, feigned disinterest falling from every pore. Chuck was proud of the younger Bass. Aidan had learned every lesson he'd been taught. "I don't believe you'll do it," The board chair spoke first. "That you would put aside everything your grandfather and father built up."

"Therein is your mistake," Aidan crossed his arms with collected ruthlessness. "And my grandfather's. Do you honestly think that I care for either my birth father or his damned legacy?" His entire board shifted nervously. "Make no mistake gentlemen. If you say no to me than I _will happily_ sign over every last bit of my sixty-two percentage stake to my brother and I will not feel a moment of guilt in doing so."

Chuck's smirk crawled wider to match his brother's. He watched every suited proxy measure his brother's words, calculate whether he was ruthless enough, crazy enough to do as he said. "But," Chuck broke their concentration at the crucial point. "I'm sure we could all forge an agreement under far less _hostile_ conditions._" _Their eyes shift collectively to the older brother and Chuck measures them himself. There are three that are already broke, he knows it in the flickering of their eyes, the telltale appearance of tongue across dried lips. He exchanges a look with his brother and without words they decide the rest will be broken before the anyone leaves that room. It doesn't take long. The Basses unravel every argument, debate every term and set the basis for a plot Aidan had once whispered to his brother when he was fourteen years old. The night is early enough when they are done for the brothers to head to dinner after. They meet a wife and a girlfriend at the door. Chuck knows why. Companies are not the only thing his little brother is intent on merging that night.

Isabella Archibald steps to greet her boyfriend with a kiss but Blair turns only her palm for her husband. Chuck runs a finger intimately from her pulse point to the tip of her longest finger before he brings it forward and kisses each corner of the journey. Their look is a private one disappearing within the public place. They exchange congratulations with arched brows and parted lips that bring no words. He sits close enough for his arm to brush hers as they eat their three course dinner. She moves her foot across his, looks deepening but exchanged words still on the pretense of discussion.

Aidan waits until dessert to fulfill what, in the intermediary hour everyone but Isabella expects. It's the shaking hands that give him away to Blair because the middle Bass is nothing but confident. His girlfriend ought to have caught him in the silences but, despite the drama that surrounded her upbringing, Isabella is still a strange blend of innocence. She doesn't realize just how beautiful she is. It's not just the external that leads men to follow her aimlessly down city streets. She's beautiful within as well. She's been protected in a different way from Aidan but they've both been nurtured with selfless care. When Aidan kneels to ask Isabella to marry him, Chuck takes Blair's hand beneath the table and leans in close. The younger brother's delivery is textbook and that makes Chuck smirk. "Mine was so much better," He whispers mischievously into his wife's ear.

"You mean the snorkeling trip with the underwater signs?" Blair arches her brow as her husband nods. "I don't think the proposal counts when the wedding is postponed three years," she wipes the self-assurance right off his face.

"I don't concur," Chuck offers back while the other two kiss.

"I do."

He squeezes her hand a little tighter. "So you're saying I never proposed to you."

"I didn't say that either," Blair teases gently. She runs her free fingers down the lapel of his suit. "Besides you did _eventually_ get things right."

"I usually do," Chuck decides and closes their banter with a gentle kiss. When they come apart Aidan and Isabella are sitting close together, green and violet eyes studying her ring. It's not a standard diamond but a cutting of eight different precious stones that form a circular center. The diamonds flank each side of it. It fits the girl much better.

There is something in Blair's eyes when she stares at the two, it makes Chuck put an arm on the back of her chair and match her direction with his eyes. "Do you see it?" Blair whispers as he studies. He doesn't at first. He just sees two cute kids except of course they aren't kids anymore. It's not until Aidan smirks and Isabella smiles that Chuck realizes. It's them but only a tiny piece. It's Chuck and Blair without the parents that made her wicked and him cruel,without the fears that made him run and her hide. It's them without maliciousness, without mistakes, without restarts and never quite finishes, without coping mechanisms and lost innocence, without games and lost hope. Isabella and Aidan have what Chuck and Blair never had the chance to acquire: a happily straight line from beginning to finish.

And that gives them both hope for the next generation.

**XOXOX THE END XOXOX **

_What? You want to know about me? Really?_

_I kept my promise, ain't that enough? I stayed entirely detached from Charlie's life forever. In fact, I kept out of all their lives. I never returned to New York but bought a ranch in South Africa. I took to raising thoroughbreds. I was quite good at it but then breaking wills is nothing new for me. My horses took every single international prize but I never traveled with them. _

_It's easier to fight temptations in your own home. _

_Did I ever get married? Are you kidding me? Children? I stopped doing drugs, I didn't transform into Mary fucking Poppins. Besides it's easier to trade up your playthings when they get too old or too demanding._

_I suppose I could have done more, but like Sebastian, my demons were always harder to chase._

_What? You want to know how I know everything I do if I've been living in virtual exclusion?_

_In two words..._

_I don't._

_XOXO_

_Georgina Sparks_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX_

_A/N – First off, thanks to gossipgirlxcore we have a video *shrieks* She made one to go with FTHEA and you can view it at www _dot_ youtube _dot _com /_watch?v=TavmWuab4Fk_ If you enjoy it as much as me ;) leave her a comment._

_I also reposted the mature ending to chapter 14 after some editing to make it a closer match to the rest of my writing style. I felt that we needed to see that 'first' time. _

_I want to thank everyone who has followed me along this journey. I have had several people ask if I plan to continue to write GG after the completion of this story. I'm not going to write any more Gossip Girl fiction though I am currently working on something that is heavily inspired by the plot points of S1. If you want to see a summary then you can look at my livejournal (same username), or PM me and I can send you the link/put you on an update list. _

_I want to offer a special thank you to Annablake, Sky Samuelle, gossipgirlxcore and the girls at fanforum for reasons they'll know :) _

_I bid you all adieu :)_


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